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theveryworstthing · 4 years ago

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So over on patreon Trevor asked for my take on the Addams Family and I grew up LOVING the Addams family movies so here we are. Instead of doing a straight up style interpretation, I decided to do a full on design challenge, using the characters as bases to make a black southern gothic Addams au. I actually drew the kids first, using the character bases of Wednesday and Pugsley to create some delightful kiddos I'm calling Sunday and Blanche. I of course then redesigned Gomez and Morticia into Carlisle and Mortesha.

The Addams have a very specific high aristocratic goth aesthetic (they've got a butler and nobody really works among other things) so in this re-imagining I wanted to go with vibes that run a little more middle class/upper middle class. I thought it would be interesting to think about what would be considered weird and off-putting in an entirely different culture, and how being a big ol' goth is way less controversial than it used to be.

I tried to keep this short (HAHAHAHAHAHA) so I didn't spin off into an essay about villain coded families, black people in the horror genre, and normalcy as it pertains to social survival, but just...bits of that are in these designs and lore. Keep that in mind.

Also I made the kids twins because they've flip flopped in age so much in different media and also twins run in my family (i'm the daughter of one). And let's face it, I'm pulling a lot of their southern gothic traits from living as a southern goth so *shrug*.

10 thousand pounds of lore incoming loooooooooool.

The Parents

From the moment he saw her he knew that there was a 50/50 chance of him either never making it out of that swamp alive or marrying the figure that was creeping out from under the distant willow tree in a black cocktail dress. The third time she found him trussed up in one of her traps, he complimented her rope work and asked if she'd like to go out sometime after his head wound stopped bleeding.

Or while it was still bleeding.

If she was into that.

Some kids and a mysteriously burnt down Piggly Wiggly later, their love is still as strong and inescapable as a bear trap in a sink hole.

Carlisle Guillermo (now Addams through marriage but I wanted to give him two first names for a name since Gomez has two last names) makes a vaguely described living practicing ‘law’ around town. A loophole king, people come to him from miles around with contracts signed in blood, fights over chunks of hair buried in their rivals’ yard, dehydrated primate hands, memories that seemed like dreams until the evidence of their happenings became too real, and other regular Legal Items asking for counsel which he is all too happy to give. For a price. Sometimes that price is a homemade pie and sometimes it’s a million dollars, depends on who you are. Whatever you’re asked to pay it’s worth that price, and if you try to scam him out of work or he just plain doesn’t like you? Well. He knows how to twist a contract better than anything at the crossroads.

And he always gets his due.

He doesn’t just serve the local (living)humans though, there are many things that need proper legal representation in this day and age. You wouldn’t believe how many city councils try to build on sacred burial grounds even after he lets them know that his ghostly clients are totally gonna haunt the FUCK out of the ensuing shitty condos and curse their families for all eternity. At least 50% of his energy goes towards dealing with real estate bullshit.

Carl is an excitable and good natured(?) man who loves his family, cigars, dancing, and his many knife-based hobbies. People find him very charming once they get past the feeling that they’re talking to a sultry gator badly disguising itself as a human. I didn’t put a ton of deep thought into designing him, mostly I wanted to make a middle aged dude who looked like he would have been voted ‘most likely to smooch the literal devil’ in high school. Tbh he probably has, but no demonic ex’s can compare to his lovely wife~

Mortesha Addams(her name was already perfect so I just tweaked it)is a woman of many talents. A self proclaimed homemaker, she prides herself on a greenhouse full of Concerning Foliage, a beautiful wasp apiary, and a coop full of what are probably chickens that she keeps for what are probably eggs. She’s also an avid creator of the outsider art that can be seen around the estate. She has taken on the family business of selling her homemade goods in a little stall by the road just outside the swamp with her mom, and makes pretty good money doing so. A surprising amount of poison gets bought in quaint southern towns.

Speaking of poison, people who come out to the edge of the swamp to buy it are usually carrying a lot of secrets around, and Mortesha knows most of them. It’s not like she pries the truth out of people, it just so happens that many nervous hellos eventually turn into the tragic backstory power hour if she’s alone with a client for long enough. She supposes that’s just how people are. Despite the fact that the Addams are very active in the community (whether the community likes it or not) she especially, as a direct descendant of the first Addams matriarch, is seen as…Well not an outsider because the community feels A Certain Way about outsiders and despite it all the Addams are their people, but maybe something like an exception. They feel like whatever weirdness they’re hiding can’t be weirder than any given Addams, so they get a little loose with their words.

This is amusing to her, since Addams’ don’t naturally keep the kind dramatic secrets that their surface level prim and proper neighbors do. It’s much more fun to openly talk about those things.

Do they have a sadly decrepit yet terrifying grandma up in the attic? Yeah, like three. They got a tv, all the creepy porcelain dolls they could want, and they’re close to family. Where do you keep your gram-grams?

Any bodies buried on the property? Yeah some, but most are thrown to the gators.

Any creeping through the balmy summer night with ill intentions? Yeah dude, everyone loves a nice family stroll.

What about dangerous forbidden love? If an adult Addams isn’t incorporeal then they’re either queer or in a torrid romance with some person/thing mysteriously drawn to that awful swamp. Sometimes both at the same time. Most times actually.

Mortesha would know.

The current head of the Addams family is just as outgoing as her husband but a lot quieter and harder to read. She never really seems to get mad about much and always has a genteel smile for everyone whether they deserve it or not. A seven foot tall human shaped “Oh, bless your heart”. A perfectly composed Lady even when she’s, oh I dunno, burning down a Piggly Wiggly. You know. A regular southern mom. Chat her up at the hair salon for 50% off a jar of wasp honey with your next purchase of a mysterious but foreboding packet of herbs.

Designing her was pretty easy because I just drew a lankier Grace Jones and called it a day. I had some problems with her outfit simply because if we were going HARD southern gothic then she’d probably be wearing a white/cream dress with a fuller skirt but I thought keeping the silhouette and the black was more important. She’s supposed to be an anti southern gothic southern gothic character anyway. A woman who looks like she has a million secrets who is actually the most open person you could meet. For better or worse. The red hair came from a coloring error that I really ended up liking (my mom had red hair her whole childhood that only darkened up in high school so I can buy that an Addams can be naturally fire engine red) and the veil was to get more of that classic Morticia silhouette in there.

The Children

Sunday and Blanche are the twin children of Carlisle and Mortesha Addams. Some say the Addams clan got their cursed homestead when a wealthy local businessman made a deal with the devil and lost, leaving his grand mansion to his least favorite maid and cutting his losses once he realized that the swamp would do everything it could to drag the house into the water and take what was owed with its horrible curse. Others say that the family has just always squatted there and no one really cares because man, fuck that particular swamp. Have you been in there? Absolute horror show.

Anyway.

Blanche is the more outgoing sibling and quite the engineer/mad scientist in the making. He started going grey at 2 weeks old but considering he was also rocking some extra fingers, toes, and a tiny tail (he takes after his dad), his parents just put it on the 'not life threatening' pile and decided not to worry about it. He's the kind of smart that teachers find utterly infuriating, less a dog eagerly learning and obeying commands and more a hyena who keeps teaching itself how to pick locks. He has a few friends in his school's robotics club (which they honestly allowed him to make so the school could contain his... creations) but mostly hangs out with his sister exploring the swamp. They find all sorts of neat things in there! wedding rings, suspiciously lumpy garbage bags, cloaked cultists who can't read private property signs, it's an adventure every day!

Blanche is all about experimentation with his creations, his look, and his tether to this mortal coil. Is lipstick a cool thing to try? Let's find out. Can he get out of a strait jacket fast enough after being pushed into the depths of the swamp by his sister? let's find out. He's not dead yet and confused local doctors can attest to the fact that he's rarely attained more than a bad bruise so he's pretty set on continuing to kiss rattlesnakes on their cute little heads and have his sister practice her knife throwing at him until that fact changes.

Blanche is very much a country goth. Cowboy boots (customized by his mom), knife, and lighter are daily accessories. He likes to wear the crusty swamp jewelry they find (the rust adds a splash of color!) and despite appearances he does try to keep himself neat. He's just got natural Grunge Colors and a tendency to wear clothes he likes until they fall apart. Pugsley always seemed the most modernly styled to me (which might just be because little boys clothes have been the same for a long time) so I wanted Blanche to be the most purposely fashionable Addams. Everyone else is goth by nature, but he's the only one truly familiar with goth as an alternative fashion.

I got really into designing Blanche because honestly, I find Pugsley to be the most boring member of the family. And he was hard to design! I had to mess with his vibe a lot to get him looking how I wanted. I know he's supposed to evoke an " 'evil' little boy next door who's parents never reign him in", but that's just goth Dennis The Menace. I's 2020. We can at least go queer goth Calvin.

Sunday was much easier to design. Wednesday was my favorite as a child (of course) and I really wanted to keep the spirit of her look while adding things like billowy sleeves (it gets HOT down here), big poofy twists instead of braids, and a nice tie. She's a professional after all, been running the local pet cemetery since she was 6 and the previous groundskeeper met with an unfortunate accident after telling her that tarantulas don't have souls. Her specialty is creating beautiful naturalistic animal funerals similar to those that Maquenda (https://linktr.ee/artofmaquenda) makes, and she takes pride in creating miniature dioramas of her subjects after each burial which she uses as a kind of 3D catalog for future clients.

She really wants to try out her skills on humans one day. Well. Publicly try out her skills. Lotta random bodies float into the swamp. None of them have turned down her requests for diorama models so far. Most seem downright flattered. Plus, she usually figures out which graveyard/crime scene they floated over from and gets her parents to give them a lift back. She'll even help enact terrifying revenge from beyond the grave on whoever put them there if she's not, y'know, busy.

Besides arts, crafts, and pet based funerary arrangements, Sunday is an avid lover of archery (any ranged weapon really), books where little fantasy adventure animals die dramatic deaths, and history. She is That Kid who eagerly raises her hand when asked who Christopher Columbus was and ends up being sent out of class after 15 minutes for making 'a scene'. Her favorite party trick is just picking an item in the room and talking about how it relates to either some obscure historical figure with a buck wild life or a horrible disaster. At least one charity pancake breakfast ended with children in tears after her vivid description of the Great Molasses Flood of 1919.

Social-wise, while Wednesday is the girl that people ask to smile because they think she'd, "look so pretty", Sunday is rarely asked anything at all. People just kind of assume from her quiet nature (in between horrible history facts) that she's angry all the time and that she hates everyone. This is untrue. She hates some people but she's ambivalent to most everyone else and even downright friendly if you bother to talk to her like a person instead of a terrifying cryptid. Like, she IS a terrifying cryptid but she's also a little girl.

That’s about it for now. One day I might do the other family members but for now I’m happy with the four I’ve redesigned. Making an au! Lurch in a family that doesn’t do butlers could be interesting. Over on patreon I put forth that he could just be Motesha’s mute little brother (similar bone structure) but Amy Crook had the nice idea of quote: “ a mysterious "cousin" that "helps around the house" whose origins are both long in the past and faintly unsettling. He's good for lifting heavy things, like that tank of propane you're about to throw into the burning Piggly Wiggly... “ which i now consider canon. Who's kid is he? How old is he? Not important. Anyone willing to commit arson with you is family.

Annnnyway. This challenge was a lot of fun! I love indulging in AU’s.

#long post #the addams family #Character Design #au #design challenge #i am incapable of doing a design challenge like a normal person #oh god i forgot the cut lol

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littlemisspascal · 3 years ago

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The Infinity Cube Part 10

Main Pairing: Marcus Pike x Female Reader

Chapter Pairing: Frankie x Female Reader

Word Count: 1700+

Series Summary: When you play with a strange cube, you’re transported out of your current reality with your boyfriend Marcus into brand new ones starring alternate versions of your boyfriend who look and act entirely different every time. With each encounter, you start to wonder if you’ll ever make it back to your real universe?

Warnings for the chapter: Language, Angst, Relationship issues, Surprises

Author Note: Thank you everybody for your kind support of this fic! I appreciate every like, comment, and reblog 💝 So many of y’all have been asking for Frankie and while I love fluffy stories with him, this is...definitely angst 😅 But there will be another part, so maybe fluff will make an appearance then 🤷‍♀️

PART 1 / PART 9 / PART 11

You’re lying in a bed for a second time, staring at the ceiling as the moonlight makes shapes on the ceiling like graffiti art. Sitting up, you press a hand to your face, grimacing when your fingers brush against dried tear stains forming crusty lines down your cheeks. You must have been seriously upset to have fallen asleep while still crying.

What little details of the bedroom you can make out in the dark are so plain and boring—just a closet, bed, and nightstand. Not even a single picture hanging on the wall—that alarm bells start ringing in your mind. You think, even for your alternate self who you know nothing about, this isn’t where you usually sleep at night.

Slipping out into the hallway on socked feet, you’re struck in the chest with an icy shard of absolute dread. It’s the same feeling you get when watching horror movies with Marcus, when you instinctively know the killer’s gonna pop out on screen, but you don’t know how or what precise moment, so you’re left sitting there in suspense, waiting, waiting, waiting.

There are three other doors along the hall before it connects with the living room—one open to reveal a bathroom, one closed shut, and one at the far end open just the faintest crack.

You choose the third door, drawn towards it despite the pit in your stomach growing larger and larger with every step. Up close, you hear the faint rustle of movement from inside followed by the distinctive zzzip of a bag’s zipper being tugged on.

The door swings open with a quiet creak of protest under the force of your palm, and then you’re watching Frankie folding t-shirts and stuffing them in a duffle bag.

His face is half-concealed in shadow, but the dim bulb of the lamp in the corner provides enough light for you to see the lines of grim resignation and stubborn loyalty weighing heavily on his expression beneath his unruly curls. He knows what he’s doing is stupid, but he’s going to go through with it anyways because when it comes to his friends—his brothers—he’s incapable of telling them ‘no’ to anything.

God, some days you wish he’d met you first. Worse still, some days you wish he’d never met any of them at all.

You lean against the doorframe, feeling like you’ll fall over without the support, and quietly ask, “Were you even going to say goodbye or was I going to find a note on the fridge in the morning?”

He finally looks at you, expression an open wound of hurt. “Of course I would have said goodbye.”

“You shouldn’t be saying it at all,” you hiss, crossing your arms. “This trip is fucking insane, Frankie. No amount of money is worth what Santi’s asking you to do.”

Santi’s name digs into your brain like a shovel, unearthing a chest full of memories that you wish had remained buried. They’re just fleeting glimpses, like flipping through the pages of a book, but they flood your mind all the same, one after the other without pause.

Frankie’s cocaine suspension, the pile of overdue bills on the kitchen table, Santi sending a text message out of the fucking blue claiming he’s got a job for Frankie and the rest of the gang. A job that would pay seventeen grand if successfully done.

All Frankie had to do was travel to South America with his fellow Delta Force veterans to map out and do reconnaissance of a drug lord’s house in the middle of the jungle for the government’s narcotics unit. It’ll be just like old times, Santi had added at the end of the text and the shithead even included a smiley face.

Frankie doesn’t say anything. You both just look at each other and the moment of silence keeps stretching on, brown eyes locked on yours. You’re not used to this—this being a giant chasm of distance between you two. Physically, Frankie’s here with you, but emotionally? He’s already left you for another continent.

He looks back to his bag, finding it easier to speak to it rather than you as he says, “They need me, orange.”

“Fuck that,” you say through clenched teeth, ignoring the throbbing ache in your heart upon hearing your nickname on his soft lips. “You’ve got people that need you right here, Frankie, so don’t use that bullshit excuse.”

“You don’t understand—”

“Except I do,” you growl, pushing off the doorframe and closing the gap of distance in two steps. You jab a finger into his chest. “You’re going because you can’t stand the thought of disappointing them. Because you’re convinced you owe them something—”

“No, not something. Everything.” Frankie’s voice isn’t raised but there’s a weight to it, shutting you up immediately. You watch as he exhales a heavy sigh, reaching for a pair of jeans to add to the bulging duffle bag. “Fuck, there’s still so much you don’t know about me. About all those years. Whatever it is you think you understand—orange, you don’t know a damn thing at all.”

Once the words leave his mouth, they remain suspended in the air, reverberating in your ears like an echo. You don’t even know what to say, lips parted soundlessly.

Strangely, all you can think is that orange isn’t as sweet of a nickname as you used to believe.

It’s a shortened form of mi media naranja, meaning ‘my half-orange’, the Spanish equivalent of saying ‘my better half’ in English. When split into halves, oranges have one, perfect match to make them whole again which is similar to the Greek legend humans once had two faces, four legs, and four arms until Zeus tore them apart and punished them to spend their whole lifetime looking for their other half.

Frankie told you after a whole year of dating you were the one he’d been searching for, his soulmate, his better half-orange. And he’s called you orange ever since.

But can you really be someone’s perfect match without knowing every part of them? Is there even such a thing as a perfect match? You think maybe all this universe traveling is screwing with your brain, that maybe being in love with the same version of someone doesn’t always guarantee a happily ever after with them every time.

“Brown Eyes,” you say, feeling suddenly drained and exhausted, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his. “Just...come home as soon as you can, okay? Preferably in one piece.”

“I’ll come back,” he answers, voice hoarse with sincerity. “And then we’ll talk, I promise.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for several heartbeats, and then he’s grabbing his bag and walking out of the bedroom.

Through watery eyes, you catch the way he hesitates outside the closed door, placing a hand on the wood. The gesture has your heart feeling like it’s about to burst although you don’t fully understand why.

You wipe away the new stream of tears dripping down your face and when you look back up, Frankie’s gone.

It takes an embarrassingly long five minutes before you can summon up the strength to move. You miss him already, which you realize is pathetic since Frankie isn’t even yours to miss.

Once again, you think this whole thing isn’t fair.

Shaking your head, you decide it’s time to go before you drown in a pit of self-deprecation. You look down at your hands, blinking dumbly at their emptiness.

The cube. You don’t have it.

“Oh no,” you murmur, trying not to panic, but your stomach is starting to churn, heart lodging itself in your throat. “No, no no no…”

Where is it? Did you have it when you arrived? It’s always been close by, within reach...

Your eyes sweep frantically around the room, searching for the barest glimpse of anything gold or shiny. But there’s nothing. Just sheets on the bed and clothes on the floor and a baby monitor on the bedside table and pillows stacked on the chest at the foot of the bed and—

Your train of thought comes to a screeching halt.

You turn your head stiffly, taking a second look at the small electronic device.

“Oh my God,” you breathe, because if that’s a baby monitor—and it sure fucking looks like one—then that means there’s a—

The speaker of the monitor crackles to life, emitting an upset cry.

Your feet are already moving before you realize it, pulled forward by an invisible string. Twisting the knob of the closed door, you step inside what might be the most precious-looking nursery you’ve ever seen.

The walls are a soft shade of blue and the rug beneath your feet is shaped to look like a giant cloud, little toy airplanes hanging from a mobile over the crib. Of course Frankie’s love of flying would influence the nursery theme.

Another wail draws you closer to the crib, step by step until you’re peering over the railing at a little baby girl dressed in a purple, polka-dotted onesie. She coos at you when she sees you, momentarily forgetting her distress, and good lord she has your eyes.

Your eyes and nose and ears.

But those curls? Those are 100% Frankie’s genes.

And then you see it. There at the top of her crib next to a stuffed panda is the cube.

How did it get there? You start to reach for it, only for your daughter—oh, fuck, it hits you like a cement wall. She’s your daughter, half you and half Frankie—to intercept by latching onto your fingers with her tiny arms, squealing like she’s caught the world’s best prize.

You struggle to drag your eyes away from her, reluctantly glancing towards the cube. The thief said the complete merging of personalities happened when the cube couldn’t be found. And right now it’s just...sitting there. You tell yourself as long as you know its location, then it isn’t lost.

So, really, picking up your baby is a harmless action. If anything, it’s a necessary one because she’s hungry and now that Frankie’s gone you’re the only caretaker she has.

“Come on, my little love,” you say, settling her securely on your hip. “Let’s find you something to eat.”

Turning towards the door, you don’t see the way the symbols of intertwined hearts on the cube light up, shining white for a few precious seconds before fading back to gold.

No, all you see is the dimpled smile on your daughter’s face, beautiful and adorable and so dearly Frankie.

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#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales fanfiction #pedrostories #the infinity cube #my fic #my writing #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you

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mylevisdontfitanymore · 2 years ago

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i love love love your drabbles especially the ones involving belly humping or grinding. Have you ever thought about Bucky becoming obsessed with fucking an absolutely massive Steve's belly button or maybe even his fat pad after its gonna so big it's completely swallowed Steve's dick?

First off, thank you!!

It is always good to hear that people actually like the weird porn I’m putting out there 😅😅

Also, you clearly have great taste lmao belly grinding and humping is So Good and one of my favorite ways to get characters off in a belly-centric fic. Although, no, I can’t say that I’ve ever thought about Bucky becoming obsessed with fucking a massive Steve’s belly button or fat pad. I’m not really a belly button person in terms of what I like within belly-centric fics. But some occasional belly button licking or fingering I can get behind, usually when it’s accompanied by belly/body worship and licking sore stretch marks. (Sort of like this pubblywub art!) And I like that mostly because of the flustered arousal that usually happens, like, the feedee doesn’t get why it feels so good, nor did they know that it could feel so good. They’re taken aback by it and ashamed that they like it so much, squirming with embarrassment but the second their feeder asks, “you want me to stop?” They whine and choke out, “no, no- keep, fuck, keep doing it. Please?”

However, you know what I do think a lot about that is sort of related to this-?

I think a lot about how OBSESSED Bucky would be when Steve first hits a size where he’s so fucking fat, so massive even when he’s not bloated, that Bucky can’t see his dick without lifting his belly (and probably even his fat pad) out of the way. There’s just something about it that makes Bucky shudder and instantly become more turned on than he was two seconds ago. Something about having no indicator of just how turned on Steve is other than his secondary responses to arousal is incredible. Bucky loves playing the mental game of just-how-hard-is-Steve-right-now since he can’t see it anymore just with a glance down. Signs of how aroused he is come down to a couple of factors:

Warning for unbeta'd stucky belly kink fic with VERY fat Steve, immobility, explicit content, etc.

How is his breathing? Is he breathing slow and steady still or is he huffing and puffing around the stuffed, engorged shape of his massive gut, swelling forward into a dome but also pressing back into his lungs? The harder he’s breathing, the more turned on he is. Usually point blank, if he’s huffing and puffing, he’s at least a little bit hard, even if he’s breathing hard from trying to get up the stairs because getting up the stairs makes Steve aware of how much he jiggles and how much he weighs. Physical activity calls his attention to how fat he is which calls his dick to attention.

How stuffed is his belly? Is he visibly swollen yet (which… that question is always getting harder to answer because with the more weight he piles on, the harder it is to tell whether or not he’s stuffed, the bulge of a stomach stuffed to bursting with food hidden under a thicker and thicker layer of blubber)? The more stuffed he is, generally the harder his cock will be where it’s buried in his fat pad and under his heavy belly.

How flushed is his face? And how far down does his pretty red flush go? Does it go all the way down to his huge tits and big, soft nipples that now are hard all the time, so sensitive, and always sticking out from under his shirt like he needs a fucking bra?

How much is he sweating? Piggies sweat easily, it’s true and only more true the bigger the piggie gets but… it’s still a good indicator when mixed with other signs.

How glassy are his eyes? Steve gets pretty gone when he’s so stuffed, high on the complete and utter bliss of being entirely satisfied. More than that too. More than satisfied from gorging himself until his stomach stretches- all the better for next time when he’ll be able to take more down his greedy throat.

How much noise is he making? Steve’s a loud, gleeful, and eager eater, moaning and burping unashamedly around bite after bite of food he shoves into his mouth but… when those moans and groans get a little looser and more breathy, his lips closing less around the sounds because he’s too preoccupied with other thoughts-? That’s when he’s definitely turned on.

How still is he? If Steve is squirming under the weight of his gut or rocking his hips, that’s obvious, he’s obviously (whether he’s aware of it himself or not) trying to grind up against his heavy fat. But when he starts to twitch- that’s when he’s there too. His hidden dick is probably less hard if his fingers twitch against his massive, fucking huge stomach as he stuffs it more but… it still counts for something. Even if, yeah, it’s not the full out, heaving in breaths, flushed hot all over, sweating, and moaning as he tries his best to move his heavy, blubbery body under his swollen stomach, getting himself off when he can’t even reach his own dick anymore.

And when Bucky is sick of playing his own little game, searching for clues of just how hard Steve is and turning himself so much he can’t take it, he gets as close to Steve as he can. Which isn’t really close when his huge tummy separates them so much that he can’t even clamor into his lap. But either way, he presses his own body, lithe and lean, into Steve’s huge one so he can lift his stomach with a strained sound, arms flexing, and then grabs his fat pad and squeezes it. Just to tease Steve.

Steve then, if his mouth isn’t too full to speak, begs Bucky to touch him. It’s not super common anymore that he gets a hand or mouth on his buried cock because it can be hard to find, he’s that fucking fat, but also because, usually, he doesn’t need it. If Bucky leaves him be, Steve can get off grinding against his own fat, making a mess of himself. Flushed, sweating, and swollen. So when he finally does get Bucky’s hands on him, or Bucky is willing to nearly suffocate himself to put that pretty mouth on him… it’s a special treat that gets Steve to come faster than anything. Well. Faster than almost anything. Being funnel fed at the same time that he’s filled from the other end with an enema was something else entirely. So fucking hot that it nearly made Steve pass out where he knelt on all fours, his blubbery belly pressed fully up against the floor. But, God yeah, this is good too. Very good.

Hopefully that was worth waiting for 👉👈 sorry it took me so long to get to your ask!

#ask #belly kink #text #stuffing #weight gain #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky #chubby steve #fat Steve #mylevisdontfitanymore

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yostresswritinggirl · 4 years ago

Text

Tales of The Ghost Writer

“You met Xingqiu at Wanwen Bookhouse when delivering a batch of your newly-published book. But as a ghost writer, no one knew it was you that authored such books. Safe to say it was cute watching the noble bookworm fanboy about you in front of you.”

Pairings -> Xingqiu x Author!Reader

Word Count -> 3518

Theme -> Long Fic, Fluff

Series -> #Bonafide specials (100 followers event)

Warnings -> Xingqiu's name might be mispelled at times, also he rambles a lot

Entry Log # 645:

I’ve once again delivered the new batch of books to Wanwen Bookhouse today at 4PM, 30 new books in collection to be sold. That would add up to a total of 420 published books for Legend of the Lone Sword. Despite its old circulation, collectors and avid bookworms still seek out the volumes. In a spur of the moment thought, the 4th volume was finally rereleased for more readers to get a chance to read them. While on my rounds, I’ve met a particularly peculiar fan.

“4th volume?” You nod as you set down the stack of books on the counter where Jifang stood behind with a welcoming smile. “Thank you, everyone has been asking about it for a while now. I don’t understand how people keep missing out on the last volume like so.” There was an exchange of giggles between you continued your idle chatter, busying yourself with recounting the stack to make sure the order placed was exact. Yep, 30.

You picked one up from the top pile as Jifang enters the bookhouse to gather the payment. It wasn't that much of a feat to carry a pile of 30 books when it's only this thick, you thought as you opened the book in the middle and... buried your nose in it, literally. Archons, the scent of freshly printed books had always been such a stress reliever of a kind. The imprints were still fresh as you run your thumb over the pristine white page of page 75, the gravings of the letter bumping it in such an intricate and endearing manner. You suppose it should be prime time you get a copy of your own-

"Ah, the glorious scent fresh books offer are quite irresistible to everyone," your head whipped to the side in a hurry at the embarrassing display. Yet your new company only offered a light-hearted laugh, floaty and flowing swiftly past his lips. You find it enjoyable to listen to. "Fret not, I don't judge such honest guilty pleasure."

His smile was soft and respectful as you return it, watching his hand (wrists largely ruffled) pick up the next book on the pile, his interest shining the more he recognizes the the piece of literature. Such expensive clothing and poise, you thought as you continued to inspect. "I knew Wanwen had a schedule of new releases today, but I was not informed it would be the 4th volume of the Legend of the Lone Sword!"

"A fan?" You mused as you placed back the copy you took, leaning against the counter as you watched him quickly scan the lines of the book. He was intensely staring at every word with such a calculating gaze, that sometimes break when he reads how the character would sometimes reach an impasse, or when a new discovery reaches its peak. His ardent gaze was enough of an answer. When he took a break from reading to pass you his attention, you hadn't realize how red your cheeks had been out of embarrassment. "I've always wanted to get my hands on my own copy of the 4th, yet everytime all bookhouses in Liyue keep running out of stock. Is delivery normally this scarce?" He'd gestured at the not so looming pile.

You nod in response with a forgoing giggle. "Publishing could be running into some... shortness of funds?" Subtle, yet he hums in disappointment at the thought. His little pout, adorable, as he buries his face in the book again. I would gladly fund such glorious writing, you thought you heard past the leather back before the ornate doors past the counter finally opened again.

"Ah sorry it took so long, I couldn't find the exact pouch for the- hey! You again, you've read and been scolded dozens of times already," the woman angrily gestures to the notice board by the table, "Pay first, read later!"

You snorted, thankfully masked by the sudden cry of the caught culprit as he was smacked (hopefully gently) on the head by the owner, forcing him to put back the book to the pile. "Hnghh, but Lady Jifang! You didn't scold her, she was indulging herself with the book just the same," you breathed a fake gasp of astounded betrayal, before you three had laughed in chorus.

The oldest of your trio scoffed in amusement as she placed the bag of Mora unto your waiting hand. "What, her? Why would I scold her, she probably knows every word like the back of her ha-" her rambling was then cut off by a loud smack on her bottom, a book expertly finding its way back to your hand with a perfectly cut smile. Her yelp was not unnoticed by the male as he laughs at the display.

"Let him be, he's really been patiently waiting for the release!" Jifang scoffs at the word patiently as you came to the defense of blunette. You were never really aware of the norm in Wanwen, as you usually come by at a time where you would have been alone. This was a first.

"Quite so! Just the start of the volume had me hooked, setting for the peak of the story climax! The synopsis itself already hinted of another inclusion of a new element into the story I had not expected from this style of a book, surely such a writer would not tread such parallel territory without being an expert teller-" Jifang watched in amusement as her gaze lands on you at the start of the bookworm's rambling, watching the redness touch the tip of your ear with an abashed smile shyly gracing your lips. Behind it she can see the mirth and amusement, something she outwardly shows with her own expression.

"Wow," was the Liyuean woman's only response once the speaker has finished his lengthy speech. His dorkiness stands with pride at his examination.

You cleared your throat before you could mutter your initial words, finally realizing the time. "That was... quite marvelous of an analysis. A-Anywaysss, thank you for your partnership, I hope the books are all sold by tomorrow!"

And with that you swiftly made your exit, wanting to find a place to scream the embarrassment out. Or maybe squeal, just to be subtle.

Entry Log # 15:

As a distant relative to the Guhua clan, the (L/N) clan was not exactly known to be tied closely to the prestigious clan known for their expert martial. However, despite the impure connection, they carry with them still the honor of learning the arts to a meticulous detail.

Your family was one of the living practitioners of the Guhua Arts, twice removed, yet your spotlight was not that obvious as the name would carry. Your father wish to carry a new kind of prestige without relying on the powerful namesake and he had been adamant since birth to grind every teaching and form of the art into his immediate family.

"Misogyny nor feminism will not save you from battle, only your own strength." Something along those lines, was what he said.

Your eldest brother was his main point of reference when scolding you on not taking your lessons properly. A slacker he is, now he lacks not only a means of security but also financial stability, that's what you end up to if you don't treasure the arts of our family. You have no idea how martial arts brings you monetary security, but you can't really state to your own father that his logic was a bit skewed.

Daily during morning and the first touch of evening, you had resigned yourself into training under your father's supervision. As the eldest daughter of the house, you carry with you still a responsibility to be strong. No fraility was accepted, and your mother always argues about your father's ever so masculine lifestyle being imposed on you, a lady that should be taught other customs for means of living.

Yet after every session, at the end of the day under the caress of the lamp by your study table, your hands move with precision and calmness he would have scoffed at in the dojo. The beauty of words and their power to create new worlds effortlessly had drawn you in too easily, ever since you were young you had a knack for the books your mother reads to herself or to you.

Entry Log # 651:

The next time you'd met the Wanwen Bookworm (nickname you gave) was a rare moment when he'd finally looked at you more than the book in his hand. It seemed your little interaction from the bookhouse was attention-grabbing enough to make him seek out your person with a bunch of questions and wonder.

You gulped, patting down your blue skirt before accompanying him. The way he rambles was too dangerous, it was drawing something within you to also do the same, and you feared you may let out something you shouldn't. But a fellow 'reader' is good company, and with the little interactions you had with the same age group with the same interest makes this moment something you can't pass.

"Carrier to the Yae Publishing House?" You nodded calculatedly, after confirming you've said just the right information. "Quite intriguing, especially with such young age to be working in line with the greatest press house in Teyvat." Ohhh, he's surely smart despite the first impression of goofiness.

You giggled as politely as you can remember you should upon the scarce teachings of your mother. "I've always liked literature so I couldn't uhm let the opportunity pass, even if it's insignificant like that." Good, good, piling up the lies. You're grateful you haven't made some contract of friendship and happen upon the wrath of your nation's God. Or Qixing.

"Surely, you must have been in the presence of some of the wordsmiths during your rendezvous! So tell me," there was a dangerous glint in his eyes and you knew exactly what he's gonna ask, "Have you met the legendary Bob Ong?"

Oh goodness, you felt him caress and pat your back as you tried your best to breathe after the sudden choking on nothing, he was so spot on that you were horrified even if you had an inkling of what he was gonna inquire. "I uhm I don't really know what I'm allowed to say." In the inside you were goddamn screaming.

"You don't have to tell me anything about him, really! It's his mystery that makes his character just the most intriguing." You gulped down hard, this time without choking out of nothing. "I don't really know much about who he is since he's, you know, unknown? No clues whatsoever, he could be anywhere right now, maybe you've talked to him already or no. Yeah?"

He held a convincing hum before taking in the cryptic answer, content, for now you assume. "Not many avid readers of the book can place a name to the unnamed author, but how blind they were to see the cryptic signature at the back of the cover. Truly a wonderous act." Xingqiu, you finally learned his name, had took you out to lunch for the trouble and enjoyment. It wasn't really necessary, but you figured it was probably to keep you with him longer to converse about the books more.

A lot of his... analysis actually coincide with the messages that you lodged between the lines. He understands your way of narration more than you do at times, and you were left wondering just how much he had read of the fourth volume despite only having it for a few days then. When evening once again struck, you had bid each other farewell in the promise of another time to hang.

"It's a literature of love and freedom- disguised as a martial arts novel." Was his parting analysis, and you were left to wonder, was that really what you had projected into your works?

Entry Log # 32:

In your young and hopeful mind, you'd sent your first ever manuscript to Yae Publishing House. It wasn't your first work but it was the one you worked hard on the most, with weeks of furbishing and reworks. Your mother, although not directly informed of your whole plan, had provided you with great feedback and generous suggestions. And soon you created the first manuscript of 'String of Pearls'.

With a generous note and what you hoped is enough mora to at least publish a book, your package was sent to Inazuma.

You waited for days, of which turned to weeks, and then to months. You thought by the end of it all, you had been swindled but as young as you still hoped for the best of its outcome.

And then one day, as you were sweeping the outside of your gates in preparation for your father's return from some business in the harbor, a lone man of Inazuman style found its way to your humble abode. He calls himself Mr. Nine, and in his arms cradled two similar looking books, with a familiar envelope.

That was when you had been given the opportunity to write for the greatest Publishing House under the guise of a pseudonym. The great Nine was astounded by your ripeness paired with your prowess in writing. You hid behind Bob Ong, a protection from being belittled as a young child and a woman, to prevent being traced by your father if ever.

Yet you remained as subtle still. Even if your name was not written on the covers themselves, within your heart you were still the writers of those books. You've placed anagrams and mysterious puzzles revealing your name but it was part of the intrigue of the story that they had not thought much about it.

One day, you lost your book when you had gone out to eat. It was the second copy, as you carried the first one in your room, yet it still held a special place in your heart.

Xingqiu was a master novelist too, as you'd expect from someone so enthusiastic on the art of literature too. You'd long since become friends and found out soon enough his true identity. The heir to the Feiyun Commerce Guild, master practitioner of the Guhua Clan Arts, soon to be novelist. He was in every aspect the better half between you two.

One day in his daily reading breaks where he would happen upon you, he had found his eyes wafting over your notebook that you always carry. It was designed to look like a hard bound book specially tailored to your tastes, but it was nothing but mere keepers of your notes and musings.

Your newest page had in it a brand new draft for a brand new story you wanted to flesh out before the success of Legend of the Lone Sword diminishes. Mr. Nine still praised you for the success of your first major publishing and had assured you that there's no need to immediately compensate with another work so early, but your mind was already so eager to work. Your friend had never seen you so- flamed and passionate as the paper caves to the intense pressure your pencil places on it.

So he leans on your shoulder slightly (glad you were still distracted) as he quietly reads the words that articulates on the paper. The more Xingqiu reads, the more he craves, just the same vigor he felt everytime he had read his favorite works when each chapter invigorates him to continue to the end.

"Such a great outline," the blunette breathes out as he leans his cheek at the crown of your head. You let out a cute squeak when you'd finally come to, and turned your head to face him- "I didn't know you were into romance, my liege. Tell me, just where do you get such inspirations?" Your nose softly collided against the smoothness of his cheek, your lips ghosting over the line that is his jaw.

You scrambled backwards to direction opposite of his, yet with his body weight leaning on you, his center of balance quickly shifted on your weight like a net being pulled against the sides of a boat. You both toppled over.

"My, my, I didn't expect such abrupt resistance from you," Xingqiu's arms caged you as it holds him up against the grassland on either side of you. There was a certain mischievous glint in the ocean that is his eyes, which only meant one thing. "No need to be shy," you closed your eyes shut as his face leans in closer to yours, fanning over the frame of your face as he lets out a warm yet teasing exhale, "I'm sure we've gone past our personal bubbles in this relationship." You felt his chest against yours and braced for the inevitable-

as he finally licked your nose(?).

What.

"X-XINGQIUUUUU!" And then a cry of pain after a particularly harmful blow.

Entry Log # 659:

Xingqiu had always been a man of great words despite his chicken scratch of a penmanship. Vivid tales of his manuscript that I'm sure the Publishing House would take great value for, his years of memorizing numerous works in his arsenal. He told me that if I were to one day publish the manuscript, he wants to get the first copy and the first to get it signed. However Xingqiu has one glaring weakness when it comes to the art of words. When I asked him what would be a good title for the manuscript I made, he simply said, "Tales of the Writer!" And he sent a goofy smile. I thought he was joking, and I asked again, this time of what his work would be named. He replied:

"Why, Legend of Sword, of course!" He really sucks at titles.

Entry Log # 660:

Upon returning home with my new work ready to be shipped off for mass publishing, I've finally confronted my father. I had with me the final volume of my first work and offered it to him as first a gift of reconciliation, and my father took it with a mirthful glint in his eyes. He said he has been looking for the last volume of the series he'd been wanting to complete. I... I didn't know father was a fan.

The climax of my entire double-life ended so peacefully and tragically meh. I was expecting a martial arts fight of honor that will go down in history, but instead I ended up signing my own book as my father gushed about how nicely I illustrated the martial arts teaching we had during our sessions. I did not sleep well that night.

October 9th was a day celebrated by others more than the young master Xingqiu. The pavilion was mixed in with people from different walks of life and of faces he doesn't necessarily recognize. He lingers by the open window that shows the grandeur balcony, beckoning him outside. Today was a scheduled new release for Wanwen Bookhouse, and he had heard several chatters from the citizens that a new series would be published hailing from Yae Publishing House once again.

And the virtuoso of literature cannot attend such important matter himself because of his own birthday. How irking, you weren't even there to help appease his grumbling, you should have been here by now upon his invitation.

Suddenly the master of invitations bellowed out a familiar name, as his job to announce the entrance of the invited guests to the banquet. When he looks up, you were already walking down the grand staircase in your creme and blue Hanfu garb, accompanied by a tall man of a different wear—

"(Y/N), M-Mr. Nine-!" He bowed politely to the man as you curtsied at his presence. You looked absolutely dashing yet the man towered your form easily. "It's my honor to finally meet you, sire."

"Happy birthday, Xingqiu, I've heard many great things about you," the blunette opened his hands to receive the book gifted by the man. It had a familiar cover and title to it, Legend of Sword, "Great things, in fact, that there would too be great things to discuss later on." The Inazuman graced him a smile and he almost teared up at the implications, if not for when the author suddenly nudged you forward from your demure state.

Tales of the Ghost Writer

"X-Xingqiu, happy birthday! This is uhm, I've always wanted to- I wanted to give you this myself, I know you'd miss the first batch of releases," an unfamiliar book sits on his palm now. A plume and sword adorning its cover but no title, he shifts his hand to open it to the first page, "You said you wanted its first copy be signed, and I thought it appropriate to be given now at such a special occasion."

There in fresh print and ink he'd finally been revealed the mysteries he had long been searching for.

Against the translucent paper it was written and signed,

Tales of The Ghost Writer

Bob Ong, (Y/N)

@creation-magician @your-local-venti-simp @boxofteenageideas @indigodreamtime47

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact xingqiu #xingqui x reader #xingqiu x reader #Bonafide specials #exile.flower #accidentally posted again but okay #female reader

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elias-code · 3 years ago

Text

Two Left Hooves [2/7] - Choice II

Choose your own adventure ~ “What’s Better than Breakfast in Bed?“

Characters: Technoblade x gn!reader, Philza

Summary: You've asked Techno whether he wants to sleep with you or not, and he makes up some excuse to join you. He cuddles with you into the night, but you're greeted with a nightmare, Dream's voice warns you of something to come, but refuses to specify what. Techno pulls you out of the dream and you sleep undisturbed until he greets you with breakfast in the morning.

Warnings: Cussing, Nightmares

IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE INTRO AND CHOSEN YOUR ROUTE, DO SO HERE: INTRO

— The Bird —

"Techno-" I said, kneeling to his level, "What do you want? I mean, you can sleep with me if you want to."

He paused, expecting a quip, but instead, I'd forced him to choose for himself.

"Seeing as you’re already cold, even with the fire..." He clicked his tongue, testing his words, "I want to keep you warm."

Holy shit that's adorable, I thought. Techno never let emotions shine through his words. When I talked to him, I had to constantly read between the lines. His monotone speech was, I supposed, a product of his repressed emotions. Ever since meeting him, I felt like it was my responsibility to dismantle the fortress he’d put around his heart.

"Excuses, excuses," I teased, “but you’re right, I’m gonna freeze without you.” I smiled at him. He let out a small huff, but his expression was unreadable.

"It's not an excuse, it's a reason," he said, turning to me, "They're desperate for me to be at the banquet, but they won't let me go alone, alright? If I let you freeze to death, it wouldn't make for great PR."

I rolled my eyes and scoffed, standing up. I offered a hand to him, to help him stand, "Thank you for not killing me so you don't have to go," I whispered.

"No problem, heh," he took my hand and stood, "I'll be back in a bit, alright?"

"Where are you going?"

"Just downstairs, get ready for bed," He said, dodging the question. He let go of my hand and awkwardly pat me on the head, leaving the room.

I didn't know how the ball was going to work out. On the one hand, Techno would go to the banquet and it'd be as awkward as it's always been between us. On the other, I'd manage to tear down his walls and reveal his emotions, changing our relationship forever.

Techno presented himself as untouchable, calling himself 'the blood god,' but I saw him hold back tears when Tommy betrayed him. I saw the destruction his wrath brought upon L'Manburg. He has compassion, but if he bottled them up any longer, there's no telling who he'd become. He couldn't keep letting everything out as anger, or we'd all pay the price.

I dressed for the night, setting his cape on the back of his chair. I chose a simple shirt and pants, the thickest ones I'd brought with me. I was still cold, but I took the opportunity to inspect his room.

He lives in the attic, a small loft with sparse decoration. What little furniture he did have was extravagant and of the highest quality. His desk chair was made of dark oak wood, the velvet red cushion was well worn. The table matched, a knife was stuck in it, too hard for me to pull out. It was dull, probably used to open letters.

His bed was made, probably just before I got there since it was only roughly put together. Next to it, there was a giant bookshelf pushed against the wall. Most of the books were unmarked and dusty, but a few of them were clean, recently put back. The Art of War, Odyssey, and the Iliad were among them. Their spines were worn and multiple bookmarks were sticking out of the top of each.

"Do you read much?" Techno asked, startling me.

"Um, oh," I stuttered, "I don't know where to get books from, so..."

"No?" He reached over and pulled The Art of War out of the bookshelf.

"I live out in the middle of nowhere," I shrugged, "The only thing I read is my mail."

"That's pretty sad," he said matter-of-factly.

"I have plenty of things to occupy my time with, Technoblade," I crossed my arms.

"Mhm," he handed me the book. Its cover was more worn than its spine, the old leather was cracking at the corners. "Take that home with you, I've read it a thousand times. Might come in handy."

"I suppose I can use it to knock intruders out," I flipped it over. It was like a brick in my hand, heavy and hard enough to break a window. "Thanks."

I yawned, realising how late it's gotten. I left my house almost a full twenty-four hours ago and I rode endlessly until I got here. I was exhausted.

I walked over to my pile of stuff and carefully placed the book in my bag. I then took a bit of a running start and jumped onto the bed, landing in a pile of furs and knitted blankets. "Don't wake me up in the morning," I muttered.

Techno came over and sat on the bed next to me. "I'll try not to," He said.

I shuffled under the blankets and shivered. The furs were enough to keep my body heat in, but I wouldn't tell Techno that. I heard him pick the covers up to join me. Soon, I felt his arms wrap around me, his chest to my back.

My cheeks flushed bright pink and I stifled a giggle. The blood god is snuggling with me... This is not what I thought was going to happen when I joined the server. I smiled and put my hand on his, wrapped around my waist. No one was going to believe this ever happened.

--- The Bird's Dream ---

He’s there, he’s right there. I need to go see him, I need to get there before it’s too late. There are so many people in the way, I’m not going to be there in time to dance. Who are all these people? They whisper about him as if they know him, as if they watch his every step and live in his mind. Left and right, they whisper things about me, about him.

“Did you hear, he’s going to the ball!”

“Oh and with that beautiful bird,”

“If only they knew. Tsk.”

Their eyes were unmoving, fixated on me. I shoved my way through the crowd, suddenly falling into the void.

“Did you really think it was going to be that simple? That you’d just seduce him with the snap of your fingers? He’s not a dog, he can’t be trained. He’s a wild animal. He’s unstable, He’ll break your heart, little bird.” Dream's voice boomed, echoing in my mind.

"Who are you?" I tried to yell, but only air came out.

"I'm the one who whitelisted you, the one who trusted you."

"What does that mean?" I was desperate to stop, to wake up, but I was falling infinitely.

"That's not for you to know, Puppet. You're here because I have a job for you, nothing more. You're the only one that can get through to him."

"What- What's my job? Why am I here?"

"You'll know soon enough-"

--- Technoblade ---

I slept soundly until I felt them stir under me. It sounded like they were having a nightmare, they muttered my name. What the hell are they dreaming about? I pulled them closer, brushing my hand through their hair. I wanted to wake them softly, so they'd forget about whatever was just racing through their mind.

They took a deep breath, signalling their waking. I continued to stroke their hair, "You ok, Bird?"

They mumbled an 'ok' and turned to face me, burying their face in my neck. I did the same and took deep breaths for them to follow. Within minutes, they were asleep in my arms. It felt right.

I didn't have the heart to admit it. If I did, I'd just have to tear it all away again, I'd be the one thing I truly hated. I'd be a traitor.

Don't get attached, Techno. We get to break hearts now, not just crush them! If you name this one, you'll regret it. Nothing screams ruin more than you do.

I woke up to birds chirping outside my window. The weather had finally let up, now I could finally get real work done. It took me a couple of seconds to remember the person fast asleep in my arms. A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it.

Carefully, I picked up the covers and snuck out of bed. I wanted to keep my promise not to wake them up, and so I immediately left the room, avoiding the creaky floorboards as I descended the stairs to the kitchen.

I pulled half a dozen eggs out of their box and cracked and cooked them over the fire, adding the occasional spice so it wasn't too bland. I toasted some bread and stuck it all on separate plates. Four eggs for me, two for them. I was two times their size, after all. The image of them laying on my bed flashed in my mind, making me smile. I shook it off. I couldn't get attached any more than I was now.

I pulled myself together and went back upstairs with the food. I put my plate on my desk, pulling the knife out of it and stashing it in my drawer. I walked over to the bed, placing their food on the nightstand. I reached over and gently pat them on the head, slowly waking them.

"Good morning," I whispered.

They opened their eyes and mumbled "G'morn'n,"

"I made you some eggs," I said, still petting their head, "You should eat them while they're hot,"

"Ok," they sat up and I moved back over to my desk, sitting in my chair.

They yawned and stretched, their shirt raising over their waist, exposing their belly button. I looked away and busied myself with my food.

Oh, look at them, they're so cute... so naive... so vulnerable.

I wanted to scream at the voices to shut up. They had been plaguing me ever since Phil suggested I invite them. For some reason, they had a vendetta against the bird. They wanted to see them suffer to, in turn, make me suffer. The voice's presence itself was enough to turn my hair grey, but this added a whole extra layer to my agony.

"Techno?"

"Hmm?" I didn't look up from my food.

"Did you make me breakfast in bed?"

I looked at them, hiding my embarrassment, "You told me not to wake you, but I was hungry, and I thought you'd like some too."

They blushed and shrugged. "You know me so well," they sighed.

"And I thought you'd appreciate the origin of the eggs," I added.

"Oh, and where are they from?" Their mouth was full, making them mumble a bit. They looked a bit scared.

"Well," I leaned towards them in my chair, "They're from The egg."

"Bullshit," they called, stuffing their face with more eggs. Maybe I should have given them more.

I laughed, genuinely, "They're just chicken eggs, I doubt the egg would taste very good,"

We ate and joked like nothing was wrong in the world. They were so good at making me feel at home, but the voices were eager to remind me of my past. I wouldn't let them spoil this. What we had was new to me, and I wouldn't just lay down and take the voices at their word. Gods know they aren't worth their weight.

— Philza —

“Hey, you two…” I creaked open the front door to Techno’s cabin.

The bird smiled at me from the breakfast bar, “Hey Phil, good morning!” They seemed very chipper for having just woken up. Both of them were already dressed in the day’s clothes, excluding overcoats that hung on the hooks by the door.

“Hello, Phil,” Techno nodded at me. His hair was neatly braided and they were both already dressed.

"How was your morning?"

"Techno made me breakfast!" They laughed. That was a surprise, he didn't even cook for me.

"Ooh, nice," I said, "What's better than breakfast in bed, eh?"

"Riches beyond your wildest dreams," Techno chuckled. I guess they were both in a good mood this morning.

“It’s nice to see you, mate,” I said to the bird, wandering over to join them at the breakfast bar. I sat down on a stool next to them, putting the notebook on the counter in front of me. “I’ve got something for you.”

“Ooh, what is it?” They said, sliding the notebook over to them. I reached over and opened it to the page I was referring to.

“The banquet has a dress code, and I’m assuming you don’t have anything that matches it,” Everything they wore was forest green or yellow, sometimes they had black or white clothes, but it was few and far between.

“What’s the dress code?”

“It’s blue, black, white, and gold,” I pointed to two drawings on the page, “I’m thinking either I make you a dress or a tuxedo, or I can mix the two. A tux top with a skirt. What do you think?”

They pressed their lips together, surveying their options. I tried my best to draw them, although they were rough sketches of a fancier design in my head. I could draw buildings and architecture for my blueprints, but flow-y things were not as easy.

/// UNDER CONSTRUCTION, BRRRRR ///

Choose your garment! It only affects the story slightly, I promise! There is no gender attached to them, it just changes how you’ll interact with people :)

Dress

Tux-dress

Tuxedo

#technoblade x reader #techno x reader #c!techno x reader #c!technoblade x reader #dreamxd #dreamsmp #dsmp #mcyt #dreamsmp x reader #dsmp x reader #philza #elias original #two left hooves

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pythagoreanwhump · 3 years ago

Text

Kai Gets Shot Twice! (Part 3)

Sorry they once again don't actually get shot but there's pain! Both pain and soft content!

Contains: Painful wound cleaning, slight gore, cutting off flesh, mentions of pain meds, alcohol consumption

Part 1, Part 2. AO3 Version

@badthingshappenbingo

Two chairs in the living room, no table, a frayed rug curling up at one corner to reveal loose floorboards. The safehouse was exactly as they left it save for a few more broken windows. The bathroom was fully visible from here, and they checked the bedroom anyway despite not noticing anything else out of place. No bed, no mattress, and the closet was missing its door, with not even a lone hanger inside. Tactically, it was a terrible place for a safehouse, but it held some sentimental value. There was still the arc of orange spray paint on the ceiling, from when they had watched their friends fight over it, throwing it overhead until it crashed into the light, raining down glass and letting pressurized air escape through a puncture in the can. Was it simpler times? Maybe not, but perhaps less dystopian. When taking a stand meant terrible humour about ideology and slogans left behind on walls with a surprising level of artfulness. They hadn’t been here in years, not since the rebels started taking control of the countryside only a couple of hours drive from the capital. Which was good, they supposed, but that wasn’t an opinion they had the chance to acknowledge to anyone but themself.

It’s funny, how a loose floorboard with a scrap of paper, and pile of dust, and some mysterious debris under it hid the flat wooden box that fit in perfectly between the oven and the wall at the back of the kitchen. It hadn’t even been intentional. The phone inside, like everything else in the house, was years old, but they hoped that storing the battery separately and having a charger on backup would at least give it a chance at working far past its intended time. They were more amazed that the place still had electricity, but it made sense if no one had made any reason for it to be cut off all this time. They’d always preferred memorizing phone numbers for situations just like this, and maybe it was dangerous knowledge to keep in their head instead of locked away and encrypted, but who was going to ask and expect an answer like that specifically?

“Remember what you promised me?” They asked first as soon as the line went through, before the person on the other side could ask who they were. “I’m gonna need it now. Oh, don’t play cute with me, you know who I am, baby.” They laughed at something the other person said, feeling oddly at ease even though they still carried the same pain and tension between their shoulders. “The shabby little place halfway up the hill to the fancy vacation home, you know that place? Yeah, come find me here.” They didn’t like telling people about this place, not when it’s the last place they’d feel safe now, but they didn’t have a choice in their current state.

They had started dozing off despite the discomfort of the folding chair digging into their back, and the familiar overeager but light knock from the door jolted them out of their haze. “Come in!” They called, having left the door unlocked. They were glad they wiped away the blood on their face already, although they still wore the ripped clothes they pulled off of the dead rebel the previous day. The makeshift “disguise” had let them sneak out of the basement the in dark, the door fortunately lacking a lock as they had expected, and gotten a few rides in the vague direction of their current hideout, but they doubted their friend would appreciate the makeup. Staying in their seat, they reached out with their left arm and waited for him to approach them before pulling him into a hug. “Hasan!” They buried their face in his chest and laughed away the urge to cry. “You still smell like a teenager wearing too much cologne. Some things never change.”

“And others change too much,” Hasan held them in a tight embrace while he pulled down their shirt to run his fingers over the patch of burns. “You look horrible,” He said when they pulled away. “I brought you a change of clothes. I knew you’d need them. And here’s what you needed. It’s completely ready. I kept a passport photo of you around. I’m always prepared to fulfill my promise to you, honey.”

Kai snickered, taking the small burgundy booklet from him and flipping through. Diza Halizi. The name somehow felt right. “You’re terrible. I don’t know how anyone believed we were dating for so long. Thank you so much, Hasan.” They looked up at him with a serious face and sincerity in their eyes, holding the moment a bit longer before their lips curled into a grin again. “I don’t know what I would do in a world without you, my love.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” He took the passport back, set it on the floor beside them, and pulled the other chair closer. “Now let me take a look at these. Can’t believe you’re so careless as to get shot and make me worry,” he joked, taking the knife Kai offered him to cut away their shirt and reveal their wounds. “Oh, well, I guess they’re all closed up now. But look,” He poked the tip of the knife into the most sensitive-looking bit he could find, making Kai flinch. “It’s starting to get infected.”

He looked up into their eyes, making it clear he knew it wasn’t infected at all. “I’ll help you, of course. Let me do this my way, okay? You probably won’t like it, but after all I’ve done for you,” he nodded to the passport. “You don’t really get a choice.”

“As if you’ll have the heart to do anything if I just tell you no,” They leaned back, giving Hasan space to work as he slowly pushed the knife in, slipping it just under a thin layer of flesh, passing smoothly and making a shallow flat cut. He pinched the flap of skin between his thumb and the knife, jerking his wrist to pull it away, the last bit of it snapping with a wet sound.

He pulled a flask from his waist, pouring out a slightly tainted stream of liquid onto the wound, and the pain hit Kai before the smell could. They tensed, their legs tensing under Hasan’s hand and their body curling forward, but the deep sting wouldn’t fade any quicker, forcing them to ride it through.

“Is this safe to consume?” They grabbed the flask from him, asking with a rasping voice as they peered inside. Cuz if it is I need to drink some of this.”

“Of course it is! I’m insulted you’d even ask. My little brother made it,” His voice rose an octave, but Kai knew he wasn’t really offended. “I didn’t think you were the kind of person who would use alcohol to help you ignore a bit of pain.”

Kai rolled their eyes while they took a swig, waiting for the burning in their throat to subside before speaking. “Moonshine, huh? And no, the burn of shitty alcohol is just a good distraction from the pain of… whatever you’re doing with me.”

“Fair enough. And you know my family, lots of things are illegal in a military dictatorship, it’s the things that are illegal in free countries too that are exciting. Now let me take a look at your shoulder,” Despite his earlier threat, he didn’t press when Kai turned away, trailing his hand down their side to their hip again. “Alright, let me wrap this up for you? I brought something.”

He waited until Kai nodded to press a piece of dressing onto the exposed raw flesh, and they wondered if he had brought it for any wounds he anticipated, or if carving them up a little more was always a part of the plan. He taped it off, smoothing his hand over the beige sticky plastic to make sure it’d stay, finishing by planting a kiss over it. “There’s more in the bag if you need to change it. And I got you this too,” He dug to the bottom to show them a bag of sticky gauze and pulled out a bottle, rattling its contents. By some miracle, the labels on it were still intact and matching what was inside, the red-tinted plastic showing a dozen white pills with some unintelligible logo printed on it. “I know you don’t like it, but I thought it might be useful if you need to move for whatever you have planned.”

“Yeah,” Kai took it, letting their hand linger on Hasan’s, before pulling away and putting the bottle back in the bag, picking up their new passport and dropping it in too. “That’ll be helpful, yeah. I hate to admit it, but you have always been better at planning ahead than I am.”

“Somebody has to,” He shrugged, pausing to consider how to say what he was asking next. “This wasn’t meant to be a long reunion, was it? I know you can’t say anything. Stay safe, yeah?” Neither of them were ever good at saying goodbyes, and a firm nod was the most reassuring thing he could think to give them. “And I know the drill,” He stopped at the door, turning his head with a wink. “Never saw you here, don’t know what happened to you, haven’t heard from you in ages. Don’t worry.”

So that was survival out of the way, Kai breathed a sigh of relief as they watched the door click shut, pushing themself onto their feet. They finally had an inkling of a plan, and it wasn’t something they had ever prepared for, but all these years they had known it was there as an option. It was finally time to leave, and they were not going to let themself slow down enough to regret it any time soon.

#whump #whump writing #Painful Wound Cleaning #mentioned fake relationship in the past #my writing #vmd #vague military dictatorship #OC: Kai #OC: Hasan #bad things happen bingo #bthb #Prompt: Painful Wound-Cleaning #Fandom: Original Work

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gumnut-logic · 3 years ago

Photo

Alan was bored.

It wasn’t often that he found himself with a lack of things to do. Life was generally busy with Thunderbird maintenance, rescues and backup duties.

Of course, he could always kill some zombies, but he was feeling restless. Gordon was off the island with Grandma so that didn’t help. Scott was buried in paperwork and John was still hiding on Five. Virgil had disappeared.

Wandering out onto the balcony, Alan eyed the pool a moment before throwing the idea out. Without Gordon it wouldn’t be anywhere near as much fun.

Maybe he could go for a walk. Scott had been nagging him to get into a more regular exercise routine and, hey, he hadn’t seen the other side of the island for a while.

Darting up to his rooms, he threw on some loose clothes, decent shoes and a hat. A quick note to John to say where he was going and he was out the back door and crunching gravel up the side of the mountain.

While he had no objection to the great outdoors, Alan had no particular preference for sun, surf or bush walking. Not that he didn’t love a splash in the ocean with his brother, or even a jog around the island with Scott, it was just that many of his interests lay in the confines of the virtual world.

Or space.

Part of him didn’t want to admit he was like Johnny, but he was in many ways, but where John adored seclusion, Alan loved people. Basically, Alan was happy doing pretty much anything as long as it was with someone, preferably someone he loved.

So, he would really be lying if he said he took his route at random. It wasn’t a conscious decision, more just what he knew was going to happen regardless.

Virgil had some favourite places on the island to sit and just be. Alan didn’t quite get it any more than he got John’s love of solitude, but he knew his brother liked it and he stored the information for when it was needed.

Today Alan wanted company, so he used the information he had at hand.

Clambering around on the rocky island was not for the faint-hearted. There was no doubt that he was getting a good workout just by going for a simple walk. His first stop was a small cliff beyond Thunderbird Two’s runway. It was Virgil’s favourite, just on the other side of the mountain. He could often be found here just staring out into the ocean thinking who knew what. The scene had been painted, scribbled and, in one case, mosaicked onto a table. This was definitely Virgil’s favourite place.

He wasn’t there.

But Alan still had his list.

Two more Virgil spots proved empty and Alan had managed to work up quite a sweat. He was beginning to wonder why he was even bothering when he caught sight of a figure almost completely hidden in a grove of palm trees.

Virgil sat on a rock, his sketchpad on his lap, completely absorbed in his art. He was up a cliff overlooking a good chunk of the island, the twin peak at an angle even Alan could appreciate.

Alan eyed the climb and with a deep breath began the trek to reach his brother. He kept quiet. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb him. That would be a good way to get his head ripped off. But if he approached from just the right angle, he should be able to see what Virgil was actually drawing.

It took actual rock climbing in a couple of places, but Alan eventually found himself situated behind his brother on top of the cliff, and as expected the view was breathtaking.

It was late afternoon and the entire side of the island was lit up by the sun. Gulls were wheeling in the air above the forested slopes, catching rising air. Far below, raw Pacific collided with the rocky shore in places and wrangled with reefs in others.

Virgil had certainly found a spot.

Quietly Alan made his way closer to his brother. Virgil drew on, showing no sign of knowing Alan was there. The cliff was a slope that had Alan descending towards his brother. Virgil was facing away towards the scenery, slightly hunched as he drew. Because of that slope, Alan was actually able to see his brother’s hand, this time his right, sketching pencil lines on the paper.

For a moment Alan was content to simply watch, but if he was honest with himself, he hadn’t come all this way just to spy on his brother.

“You do know it is rude to stare.”

Virgil’s voice was always soft yet possessed a strength that could be startling. Alan stiffened, annoyed at being caught so easily.

“What? Do you honestly think all that rock clambering would go unnoticed?”

“Dunno.”

His brother had yet to look up at him, simply continuing to sketch as he spoke. You gonna come and sit down?” Virgil held up a hand. “Just be very quiet, I don’t want you to disturb them.”

Alan frowned. “Who?”

But that hand didn’t answer, just beckoned him over.

Alan did what he was told and found himself sitting on that rock beside his older brother.

Virgil was scratching lines furiously onto the page, but the subject wasn’t what he expected. All that beautiful scenery and Virgil was drawing a haphazard pile of sticks?

Whispered. “They’re sea eagles. I’ve never been so close.”

Alan’s eyes darted from the sketchpad to a slither of rock a stone’s throw away from the edge of the cliff. The pinnacle stood alone and defied gravity almost to the point of disbelief. On its very top sat a huge nest. From this angle he could see the two chicks waiting for their parents to return.

Breathed out quiet. “Cool.”

Virgil was sketching madly and under his practised hand, one of the chicks slowly came to life. Simple line instinctively placed, shaded and shaped. It was a little mesmerising.

Alan, of course, had watched Virgil draw before. Amongst all the other things. His brother was usually fiddling with something. He had to have something in his hands, whether it was a pencil or paintbrush, piano or Thunderbird, Virgil tended to always have something playing between his fingers.

When Alan was little there had been many a Kansas winter night snuggled up by the fire, curled up beside his brother watching him draw. Sometimes he would dare him to draw outrageous things like Pedro the Peanut-Killing Pickle. There had been odd stories and scribbled down comics. Alan had even tried his hand under a little encouragement from his brother, but he didn’t have the enthusiasm that Virgil had for the art.

Besides, Alan was quite happy to just sit and watch. Rare quiet moments shared with his artistic brother.

They had been getting rarer and rarer.

“Can I sit with you, Virg?”

A brown eye with an arched eyebrow peered at him. “You’re already sitting.” The curve of a smile. “But sure. Just be quiet and don’t make any sudden moves.”

Respectfully whispered. “Okay.”

So, they sat for an unknown length of time. Virgil drew the second chick, and as one of the parent birds landed with the evening meal, its strong wings, talons and beak appeared on the page. Alan watched as the pencil lines grew darker, surer. Virgil switched pencils and they grew darker still, the birds emerging out of the page into three dimensions.

Down below the two chicks guzzled food from their parent.

A loud, awkward screech from above and another eagle was circling overhead, likely the other parent.

In the corner of the page, the bird quickly appeared, wings spread wide, soaring.

The quiet was amazing. Alan wasn’t one to sit still for any length of time, so perhaps he was missing the obvious, but the sound of Virgil’s pencil, the tease of the breeze and the call of the eagle above had only to compete with the waves far below and the rustle of the scrappy forest.

And a pair of squawking, complaining eagle babies.

Gordon would probably have loved this. His fish brother loved the sea, but he loved all the creatures contained in it even more. Despite this preference for water breathers, if you shoved a puppy or a panda in front of him, the man melted into a gooey puddle. Eagle babies would definitely be on the goo list.

“This is nice, Allie.”

“What?”

“Bit like old times, you sitting and watching me draw.”

Alan shrugged. “I’ve always liked to watch you draw. Guess we haven’t had as much time lately.”

The pencil paused. “Yeah.” His brother turned to look at him. “Well, it is good to see you out here. Nice to have your company.” A gentle smile.

“Anytime, bro. Kinda nice out here anyway.”

That smile grew a little before softening. “Well, unfortunately we have to head back now.”

“What?”

“I’ve got to pick up Gordon and Grandma.”

Alan checked his watch. Where the hell had the time gone? He’d been out here…three hours! “Wow, didn’t expect it to be so late.”

Virgil didn’t comment, just smiled a little more as he packed up his sketchbook and pencils.

Alan stood up and stared out across the ocean. A flicker on the surface of the water and he caught sight of a pod of dolphins frolicking in the swell. He stared.

“It’s amazing what you can see if you stop and look.” His brother’s soft voice so close to him made him jump.

“Virg, personal space.”

His brother snorted and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I don’t think such a thing exists on this island.” That smile again. “Probably why John hides on Five.”

Alan grinned. “You’ve got a point.” And despite his earlier protest, he dropped his head against Virgil’s shoulder and for just a few more moments, they both tracked the dolphins as the cavorted past the Island.

“Can we do this again?”

“Sure.” Virgil slung his pack over his shoulder.

“Great.”

Silence fell, and they stood there a moment longer until Virgil squeezed a little and let go. “C’mon, sprout, time to clamber down the mountain.”

Virgil took the first few steps and Alan followed, throwing one last glance back at the nest now full of the entire family of sea eagles. A sharp beaked head turned in his direction and glared at him.

Alan couldn’t help but smile at the bird before he hurried after his brother.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Alan Tracy #Virgil Tracy #AstroTurf #nuttyfic reblog #thunderfluff

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platypanthewriter · 3 years ago

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Hook Possum 1/4

Art by @monsdasarah for Harringrove Big Bang!

Steve had told the manager of Camp Butternut Springs every year of his life that the mildewed, papier-mache-masked, six-foot-tall opossum mascot was terrifying. The mask was chipped and patched, fixed with different colors of gray over the mangy glued-on fur. Its long, stained rat tail had drug through the red camp dirt for decades, and by the summer of 85, the dirty thing looked like it had been dyed with blood.

Hook Possum looked more like a zombie than a possum, with its mesh eyes staring in their ragged, uneven sockets, its lovingly molded teeth half broken off and stained with grime. Inexplicably—but later, retroactively, mythologized by a ton of camp folklore—it had a hook hand off a pirate costume, gleaming in the sun.

Every goddamn year the goddamn manager had the goddamn Hook Possum outfit on some poor camp counsellor, out greeting campers—the goddamn moron—and every fucking goddamn year one of the already-homesick and worried new campers burst into sobs at first sight of the horrifying thing. Steve wondered whether the manager was actually in the huge, blank-eyed Hook Possum costume this year, like a prick, because it was even bigger than usual—as tall as Steve, with its ripped ratty ears, and broad-shouldered in a way Steve suspected wasn’t padding.

The hook hand didn’t exactly help.

Steve grabbed the first wailing child he saw around the waist, then two more, and stomped over to the damn possum. “Here, look, Hook Possum’s not scary,” he said, and they all screamed, because it was so clearly a lie.

Hook Possum, somewhat to his credit, dropped to a crouch, his shoulders hunched, and Steve thought maybe it wasn’t the manager, just some poor camp counsellor that got roped in, because the manager probably would have roared like a lion—just for fun—and the kids would have wet themselves all over Steve’s lap.

“Hook Possum just lives here!” Steve told the screaming infants he was holding. “If you get scared at night,” Steve shouted over their desperate wailing and struggles, “—away from home? Hook Possum is here to keep you safe. Right?”

Whoever was playing Hook Possum flinched, and its creepy head jerked around to look at him.

“HELP!” shrieked the kid under his arm, his voice nasal, because he was holding his nose against Hook Possum’s fug of mildew and B.O.

“Nobody has ever yet been murdered by Hook Possum,” Steve gritted out. “Right?!” he prompted the moron in the mascot suit again, nudging a fur-suited leg with his shoe. “Hook Possum is like a...camp guardian! Right?”

Hook Possum stared at his face, which was chilling—after Steve’s first visit to Camp Butternut Springs, Hook Possum had featured in every one of Steve’s childhood nightmares, and the costume was even worse after nearly two decades of wear—but Steve was as tall as the thing now, and he set his jaw.

“Hook Possum is friendly, right,” he growled, and Hook Possum gave a jerky nod, making a weird choking noise, like maybe it had already eaten a couple of kids.

“Y-ye-ahssss,” the thing hissed, and Steve was tempted to push the whole mess, including the person inside, under a bus. “Safe as houses,” said the possum, just as strangled-sounding, but it was better than staring silently, so Steve grinned ruefully at the kids, who were quieting as they realized they weren’t murdered—not yet, anyway.

“You’ll get used to Hook Possum,” he said cheerfully. “We all do. Eventually.”

It had occurred to Steve one night when he was fourteen, and firmly over his terror of Hook Possum, that the perfect cover for an actual serial killer would be a terrifying full-body costume everyone was trying to ignore. He and Tommy had followed the costume around every time it had someone in it, looking for suspicious behavior. Years later, he’d donned it himself, and for the first time in his life didn’t fear getting murdered by Hook Possum. He only worried he might die of heatstroke in padded fur boots, gloves, and a bodysuit in July in Indiana, except for a few startling glimpses of himself in the mirror over the sinks.

His suggestion every week in the suggestion box was still ‘burn the Hook Possum costume and bury the ashes under a rock’, though, because he was a rational human being who understood what needed to be done.

When he’d talked Robin into applying with him at the camp instead of the video store, he’d snuck the costume on and leaned into her cabin. She’d screamed satisfyingly, and nearly killed him with an oar. She’d argued for burying the ashes of Hook Possum in seven different locations around the US, lest it rise again, and they’d put that in the suggestion box, to no response whatsoever.

It was pretty obvious the current Hook Possum wasn’t used to the cheerful voice necessary to offset its...everything, so Steve did his best. “Are you guys telling me you’re afraid of possums?” he teased, and the littlest kid, a girl, reached out and lightly batted its nose. The smell of cigarettes wafted up.

“I’m afraid,” said the boy, thickly, and Steve nodded slowly, feeling nothing but respect for a smart child.

“Hook Possum protects you guys,” he told them, sitting them on their feet. “From whatever, you know, else.”

“What could be out there,” the scared boy whispered, his eyes widening, “—that’s worse than—”

“...yeah,” said Hook Possum, in a weird squeaky voice like a Disney mouse. “Yeah, that’s what I’m here for, I’m here to protect you guys from...nightmares?” he suggested, glancing at Steve, who shrugged, nodding, because it was a pretty good idea.

“You’re soft,” said the littlest kid, grabbing one of the other snifflers by the wrist, and shoving it into Hook Possum’s fur.

“You stink,” said the boy, and Steve elbowed him.

“I’m a possum,” hissed Hook Possum, and the kid nodded.

“That makes sense.”

Steve muffled his laughter, but he was pretty sure the possum heard, because his crooked, whiskery mask jerked up, and his terrifying mesh eyes stared into Steve’s soul. He smelled like long winters in a damp shed, and cigarettes, and B.O.— because it was worn every year in the summer in Indiana—but the smallest kids were gathering around and asking questions about possums, and Steve had to call upon his knowledge from years past, and explain things like how possums were too awesome to get ticks.

Hook Possum listened intently—or maybe just glared at him, smoke drifting from its eye mesh—until Steve was a little annoyed, and mentioned that mother possums carried babies around on their backs. That was probably way too mean, because the whole horde of children grabbed hold of Hook Possum’s every appendage, and he flailed his hook only once before vanishing in the giggling pile.

“Here, here, no—” Steve yelped, unable to watch a human being consumed by piranha, and he reached into the laughing, yelping pile and hauled Hook Possum up by the arm, dusting him off. Two small children dangled from his other arm, and one had him around the neck. “You have to be nice to Hook Possum!” Steve told them. “Who’s he gonna stay up protecting, huh? The kids who’re nice to him, or the little, uh, cusses that knee him in the...shins?”

“...the nice ones,” came a small, grumbly voice from one of the criers, and “Probably the nice ones,” from a little girl who sighed heavily, and another kid just said, “Fine.” The dude in the possum suit just panted against Steve’s shoulder for a second, and Steve let him, familiar with getting dogpiled by small children with weaponized knees.

“...jesus,” came a faint whisper from in the possum suit, and Steve pinched him, even though he was grimacing with sympathy. He lifted the kids off Hook Possum—once the littlest ones had decided he was safe, they tried to drag him around and show everyone how brave they were—and the human in the suit tried to wipe his face, or something, and smacked his hook-hand into the head of his costume. He sighed, and Steve squeezed his shoulder, and patted his back, ushering the kids away.

“What are you doing here,” Hook Possum wheezed, as Steve pushed him back to sit on one of the picnic table benches. “What are you doing here,” he repeated, sounding bewildered.

“My dad owns the place,” Steve said in a low voice, as the littlest boy ran back to the buses, screaming about how he’d met Hook Possum, and Robin and Nancy looked over, resigned. “That’s why it pays so well. We went to him and told him he could have a staff that would work hard, or he could have three underpaid girls who want it on their resume for becoming teachers, and the second week they’d all have nervous breakdowns. Why, do...do I know you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at the blank mesh eyes, and trying to place the weird squeaky voice.

Hook Possum nodded slowly, but Steve was pretty sure he was still staring. Maybe it was just the mesh eyes. “...oh,” he said quietly. “Your...dad. Owns...it.”

“Yep,” Steve said, shrugging. “I mean, he owns the company that owns a bunch of camps, you know, but—anyway, you’ve never been a counselor before, right? I can show you around, if you want. What’s your name? How d’you know me?”

Hook Possum stared at him some more, and then said, even higher, like Mickey Mouse, “He’s, like, the owner’s boss?” he asked weakly. “...name’s Hook Possum.”

“What the fuck,” Steve muttered, staring back into the mesh eyes, but then he saw Robin’s arm fly up as she was consumed in a wave of children, and he clapped Hook Possum on the shoulder and ran off.

He saw the guy later, too, still in the costume, even though it was July in Indiana. He was talking to Max Mayfield, so Steve wandered over. “You need some help getting out of that?” he offered, because nobody would stay in a horrible hot stinking furry sweat bag by choice.

“No,” said Hook Possum, too quickly, and Max groaned into her hands.

“Uh,” said Steve, who was starting to wonder if they’d found some possum-obsessed weirdo for a counselor. “You must...really like possums.”

Max burst into giggles, laughing harder than Steve had ever seen her, and Hook Possum’s long face swung to look at her, then at Steve, then back at her, and then he stomped away. Because the costume had big, dirty, saggy fur paw-booties, he had to lift his feet high, like a cartoon, and Steve started snickering too.

Hook Possum hunched his shoulders, and scuttled around the edge of one of the cabins, out of sight.

“Oh my god,” Max cackled. “He’s finally found his true identity! Trash rat.”

“Is...is that...Billy,” Steve asked, the thought of Billy Hargrove, camp counselor, hauling off and punching kids, or murdering them, suddenly much less funny. “What—isn’t he back in Hawkins?! How’d he get here?!”

“Uh, no! No, no,” Max said quickly, grimacing and waving her hands. “Definitely, um, not, no. It’s, ah, he lives on my street. He’s, um, saving money to move out.”

“Oh,” Steve said, relieved.

“The pay’s really good here,” Max explained, too fast. “—and, uh, mmmm...hiiiis dad’s kinda shitty, so he needs money to get out of his house.”

“Well, he should be able to,” Steve told her, giving her two thumbs-up so she’d make a face. “We’re practically all seniors, that’s what a lot of us are doing, that or paying for college.”

“...yeah,” Max sighed. “He can...move away. Finally.”

“Sounds like you’ll miss him,” Steve said, grinning at her, “—he the brother you never had?”

“...yeah, he um. He sort of is,” she said, swallowing, and Steve patted her shoulder gingerly.

“Uh,” he said cautiously, “Um, you...you know you can always give me a call, right?”

“Thought you had kind of a problem with my family,” she sighed, and he shook his head.

“I’ve got no problem with you.”

“...yeah, that’s what we thought,” Max muttered, maybe, and Steve frowned at her. “Go away,” she told him, sighing, “It’s fine.”

They got everybody sorted into cabins, and Steve saw Hook Possum ducking into a bunk in the counselor’s cabin. He stared for a long moment, watching the enormous possum negotiate its tail and its creepy, vacant-eyed mask and lie down on the lower bunk.

“It’s hot as Satan’s asshole in here,” he groaned.

“...what are you doing,” Steve hissed. “They cannot be paying you enough to stay in that thing. There is not enough money in the world to stay in that thing for more than a couple hours.”

“Ah, fuck,” said Hook Possum, sitting up and smacking his head on the upper bunk. “Shit fuck,” he groaned, “—I can’t see in this thing—”

“Then take it off,” Steve told him, sitting next to him on the bunk and reaching in to feel for the ties behind the guy’s neck, but Hook Possum grabbed Steve’s hand, scrambling back.

“No! No, uh,” he stopped, then tried again. “I need the money,” he said softly. “I need it—”

“Okay, okay, did you agree to some—some massive bonus bullshit to keep this damn costume on? Because you’re gonna die of heatstroke in there,” Steve told him. “I don’t care how much he offered you, you can’t wear that thing all summer—”

“No, I did, I agreed to—to bonus bullshit to keep the damn costume on,” Hook Possum whispered, the fingers in his paw-glove squeezing Steve’s arm, hard. “I can’t take it off. He’s—he’s giving me a huge bonus.”

“Fuck,” Steve breathed. “You’re gonna die in there, I’m not kidding. You can stay in the shade, or—and we can bring you ice, lots of ice, you could try an ice pack on your neck—”

“I need this job,” the guy said, and Steve nodded, letting him go.

“Okay, okay. We’ll figure this out, but if the manager comes out, I’m kneeing him in the balls, because—”

“No! I need the money,” Hook Possum hissed, the weird cartoony voice even odder in a serious conversation.

“Jesus,” Steve said, sighing. “Okay. I’m gonna check in with you, alright? If you start to keel over, I’m taking it off, we’ll figure out something to tell the manager.”

“Don’t take it off,” said Hook Possum, like he was the last soldier holding the line, and Steve got caught up in it, like a moron.

“I’m not leaving you in there,” he said, like the trenches were getting shelled. “I’m not letting anyone die in a possum costume,” he said, to remind himself they weren’t at D-Day. Hook Possum sighed, his shoulders slumping as he growled. “And you can’t sleep in that thing, jesus,” Steve said, “At least change at night.”

“You’d—somebody’d see me,” Hook Possum said, and Steve shook him, a little.

“We aren’t possum spies, nobody’s gonna tell.”

“How do I know you’re not possum spies,” Hook Possum hissed back, and Steve started snickering.

“Okay, okay, um, curtain? What about a curtain, we’ll just staple it up here and nobody’ll see your, uh, late night transformation.”

“Oh,” said Hook Possum, snickering a little, like he did realize how ridiculous it all was, and looking around. “That...might work.”

“Gonna transform out of your outfit like a shitty Cinderella,” Steve sighed, and Hook Possum laughed harder. “You’re gonna have to shower in the dead of night,” Steve told him. “I’ll let everybody know it’s just, y’know, just our resident possum. Creeping around.” He started laughing again, and Hook Possum elbowed him. “How are you gonna eat?”

“Shouldn’t be feeding the wildlife in the cafeteria anyway,” Hook Possum pointed out. “There are signs everywhere.”

“...you know you’re a human, right,” Steve told him, trying not to giggle.

Hook Possum shook with laughter against him. “I’ll just climb into a trash can and knock it over at three am. It’s the way of my people.”

“Oh my god,” Steve wheezed. “I’m gonna get in trouble for feeding the wildlife and letting a possum nest in here, aren’t I? I’ll sneak you burgers, I promise.”

“Why,” Hook Possum laughed, edging away. “It’s not your problem, Harrington—”

“Hey, Max likes you, you’re part of the weirdo family we got going on,” Steve said, clapping the guy’s shoulder, and the possum mask swung towards him again.

“...does she?” he asked, snorting softly.

“She does,” Steve confirmed. “She said.” Hook Possum stared like a creepy puppet, and Steve was unable to resist reaching up and patting the dusty, greasy fur between the costume ears. “You’re one of us, now.”

“...once you feed wildlife, it can create a dependency,” Hook Possum said, batting Steve’s hand away, but he was laughing audibly now. “I read that in a flyer.”

“I can’t believe they handed a possum a flyer about possums,” Steve said, and Hook Possum snorted.

“Right? Like who the fuck deals with wildlife by handing them flyers, what a moron.”

“I didn’t know possums could read,” Steve said, and Hook Possum kicked at him, completely missing. “What a smart possum you are.”

“Fuck you, if I could see in this thing—”

“Oooo, you gonna murder me with your little—your plastic pirate hook hand?” Steve asked, and Hook Possum laughed harder, letting himself fall sideways to curl up on the bunk.

“Fuck you,” he mumbled again, wheezing with laughter.

Steve wondered who he was—whether he’d defended Max from Billy, or just showed her some skateboard tricks. Whether he was younger, maybe—Steve didn’t know most of the freshmen—and what he’d look like in about ten minutes when he gave up on the incredibly stupid idea of living in a possum suit for the whole damn summer.

Steve got hauled into setting up the welcome dinner, sitting the tables out, and putting cleanish rocks on the stacks of napkins to keep them from blowing away. Hook Possum was useless at it—he nearly dropped the plates, and then bumped into a table because he couldn’t see, almost overturning it, and finally Steve put both hands on his furry possum shoulders and walked him over to a group of smaller kids who were milling around, bored by the orientation speech.

As he wandered by later, he heard Hook Possum telling them “Possum Facts.”

“Possums are gonna be the next police dogs,” he was saying, as Steve stared over. “They’re gonna yell ‘Fly, my pretties!’ and the perp will be overwhelmed by possums.”

“That’s good,” said one solemn little kid, softly. “I’m afraid of dogs.”

“Hook Possum is here to protect us,” said another one. “You can find him if you’re scared of dogs.”

The first kid nodded, wide-eyed, and Hook Possum stared at one, then the other. “...uh, yeeeah,” he said, slowly. “Sure.”

“He’ll fight the dogs, Robin said,” said the first kid, and Hook Possum’s mask jerked towards her.

“Wait, what?!” he hissed, and Steve ducked away, smothering snickers.

Dinner was uneventful, as usual, in that there was so much chaos Steve was deadened to it, automatically reaching in to stop Dustin from using his spoon to catapult peas at Erica Sinclair and starting WWIII.

He snuck off when he saw Hook Possum tiptoeing away like a stealthy cartoon. “D’you need me to feed the wildlife?” he asked, and Hook Possum yelped, spinning around, so his tail whipped Steve in the legs.

“Holy shit,” he panted, in his weird squeaky voice.

“Sorry, forgot you were a possum on the edge, man,” Steve told him, clapping a hand to his shoulder, and Hook Possum started laughing again, cigarette smoke trailing out of the eyeholes of his mask. Steve watched it. “...you have no idea how fucking creepy that looks,” he said. “It’s eerie.”

“Creepier than my big blank eyes?” Hook Possum asked, and Steve wished he could see the expression of the person in the suit—whether it was resigned, or entertained, or what.

“D’you want me to get you some food?” Steve asked. “I can’t see you using the tongs, or like...seeing the buffet very well.”

“Also, I’m filthy,” Hook Possum said, raising a dusty paw.

“That too,” Steve agreed.

“...I can get something later,” Hook Possum said, laughing a little.

“You still have to eat, man,” Steve told him. “And drink some water, at least.”

“What’s going on back here,” came Max’s voice, and they both swiveled. She had a tray in her hands, and her eyes narrowed.

“Harrington was offering to feed the wildlife,” said Hook Possum, and she snorted.

“You’re a camp counselor, set a good example,” she hissed, waving Steve away. “Didn’t you see the flyers, Steve? You can’t feed possums.”

“Everyone saw the flyers, they even gave them to him,” Steve said, pointing. “Possums probably can’t even read.”

“I barely can, in this,” Hook Possum admitted. “I had to hold it up over my eyeholes.”

“Hrm,” said Max. “Okay, Steve, go away, Nancy said to tell you you’re on dishes.”

Steve sighed, and left them to it.

When he was done, he found an old tatty camp flag in the storage shed, half faded and ripped—he remembered somebody getting in trouble, in years past, for leaving it up all winter—and nailed it up over Hook Possum’s bunk with pruny fingers from the suds in the cooking tent. He put a hook where the grommet could lift it away, in case Hook Possum’s struggles with his mask caught on the fabric, and then stepped back to look at his handiwork just as Robin wandered in.

“That’s...really something,” she said, raising his eyebrows. “We all get one of those?”

“No, it’s for the possum guy,” Steve told her, hooking the flag’s bottom corner up to show that the bunk was slightly easier to climb into. “He’s like...contracted to wear the damn thing 24/7. He gets a bonus or something.”

“That’s bullshit. He’s gonna die of heatstroke,” Robin said, and Steve nodded, shrugging.

“That’s what I said. Anyway, I told him I’d hide the bunk so he didn’t have to, like, lie there in the costume all night.”

“Playing possum,” she snorted, and Steve grinned, imagining the dude in full possum array, sprawled on his back like roadkill.

“Sexy,” he snorted, and she waggled her eyebrows.

PART ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR

#harringrove big bang #harringrove #monsdasarah #!!!#Amazing arts!#Mistaken identity #Of sorts #Idiots in love

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a-simple-imagine · 4 years ago

Text

Study Date

Requested by anonymous: “Hermione Granger x reader where reader is best friends with Luna and has a crush on Hermione. She never acts on those feelings because Hermione called Luna Looney and seems to dislike her and in the end maybe Luna sets them up. “

Pairing: Hermione Granger x fem!reader

Words: 2.3k+

A/N - Today i offer you yet another story about hermione granger. Tomorrow? Who knows.

Thank you to @kileyrose-2003 for checking it over.

Hermione Granger was a complete enigma but that was probably due to the fact there was only so much you could learn through limited interactions. If there was one thing you knew about her, it was that she was a spectacular witch with a thirst for knowledge. She had been placed in Gryffindor all those years ago but she truly could have excelled as a Ravenclaw; if that had been the case perhaps the two of you would be closer. Things would have been entirely different but alas you were left to admire from afar since that very first year when you noticed her across the Great Hall. You didn't even have any classes together until you started taking electives. However, as hard as you tried Hermione Granger seemed to avoid you at all costs. You had invited her to hang out many times but she always declined. Maybe Ron and Harry were the limits of her social perimeters?

A hand sways before your eyes drawing you back to reality. "So easily distracted."

Luna Lovegood had such a melodic, soft voice that it was weirdly hard to ignore. Then again everything about the girl could be considered peculiar which was something you greatly admired. She didn't care what anyone thought of her and yet you cared so desperately what they thought of you. "Sorry," You hum, folding the paper in your hands. "I just... do you think there is something wrong with me?"

"No more than anyone else,"

"Maybe that's why she doesn't like me," You let out a defeated sigh before placing the origami tiger you had been working on down on the table.

"Who?"

From the corner of your eyes, you spot a familiar brunette wander into the Great Hall. A few books wedged under her arm. "Can you just give me a sec-"

Without giving Luna a chance to respond, you leap to your feet and scramble along the length of the entire table and then around to catch Hermione.

"Wait," You place your hand against her shoulder, startling her just a little. "Hermione,"

She spins on her heel; her frown morphing into that of a welcoming smile. At least she seemed happy to see you. "Yes?"

"I..." you trail off as a wave of heat washes over you. The Gryffindor always managed to make you feel anxious. It wasn't a bad thing; you knew it was because you liked her but with her already taking every opportunity to ignore you it didn't exactly help the situation. "I was wondering if you uh, wanted to play with us? Me and Luna, I mean."

It sounded rather childish slipping from your lips but Hermione's brow quirked up. "What are you playing?"

"We're having a race," Your expression brightens at her interest, signalling back to the Ravenclaw table where Luna now sat alone. "We both made something out of paper and we’re gonna enchant them so they run the racecourse we made." To the left of Luna was a makeshift racetrack made of books, cups and even your spare inks and quills. It was only small so it'd be a quick race before lunch began. "If I win Luna promised to make my bed every day for a week. If she wins she gets my last bag of Fizzing Whizzbees."

"Shouldn't you be studying during study hall?" Seems Miss Granger was all work and no play. You simply shrug, standing a little taller.

"I'm smart enough already," You declare proudly, a cocky smirk on full display. "And besides it’s nearly lunchtime so we were long overdue a break."

You watch her eyes drift from yours over to where Luna was sat and back. "You two are quite the pair."

"Me and Luna?" As if she could sense you talking about her, Luna waves at the two of you. "She's like my best friend."

"You don't find her a little... strange to be around?" Hermione muses. "A little... loony perhaps? Half the school thinks she's lost her mind."

She was right in saying that a lot of your fellow students judged Luna harshly for being a little more outside the box but you never expected Hermione to be one of them. "I think... she's awesome and I'm glad she's my friend. You shouldn't judge her so harshly when you don't even know her."

You may have invited her to join you but that offer was no longer on the table as you marched back to the Ravenclaw table without another word. Slumping down in your seat exasperated sigh. "Are you okay?"

Plastering on a smile, you give her a firm nod. "Shall we start?"

"What happened over there? You seemed rather excited before."

"Nothing," Focusing on the origami, you pick up your wand.

"You shouldn't bottle things up," Luna expresses softly, picking up her wand too. "Might make your head explode."

"Does it ever bother you that people call you crazy?" You wonder.

"Not really," her head shakes. "It's all in good fun."

You never understood if Luna's belief in people was misguided or just for show. If the roles were reversed you'd certainly not enjoy having people make fun of you. "But what if it's not?"

"Then it's out of my control," Luna flashes a smile. "Shall we start."

With a nod of your head and wands at the ready, Luna starts the countdown. "3... 2..." your grip tightens around your wand. "1.... Go"

With a flick of your wrist, the paper tiger springs to life but it takes a few nudges from the end of your wand to get it moving. When you saw Luna's monstrosity trailing behind, you knew you had this race in the bag.

"I don't think Hermione likes you very much," you don't know why you decided to tell her that, it seemed only cruel in the moment. "I don't think she likes me much either as hard as I try,"

"Maybe you should stop trying," Luna's focus was exclusively on the race as you watch her. Maybe you should stop trying... that was easier for her to say because she didn't find herself with butterflies every time she saw the girl. Searching the Gryffindor table, you find Hermione sitting alone; scribbling away on a piece of parchment. "Staring can be considered quite rude, y'know?"

Glancing back at the race, you find both racers have crossed the finish line and were now laying completely still against the table. Students were beginning to pile into the hall for lunch so it was time to clean up a little. "Sometimes it's hard not to," Reaching over the table you grab your quill. "She's just interesting- who won by the way?"

"It was you," Did you win or was she just being nice? It didn't matter now anyway so you may as well take the win.

You haven't spoken to Hermione since that day she had the audacity to question your friendship with Luna. You didn't necessarily think she had meant what she said in a bad way but it just hadn't sat right with you. It also helped that the only class you shared was Defence Against the Dark Arts so she wasn't all that hard to avoid. The page of your textbook flips over with a gust of wind as you lounge against the stone archways in the quiet courtyard. When you spot Harry, Ron and Hermione, you bury your face behind your book in hopes of not drawing any attention. If you didn't acknowledge she was there maybe you wouldn't long to run over.

"Hey," Slowly lowering the book, you spy the girl in herself looking perkier than usual. Seemingly having abandoned her friends just to come and speak to you.

"Hello," you reply quietly, keeping your eyes on the page. It was explaining how to create the Forgetfulness Potion; a beginner level potion and not at all hard to make.

"Luna said you'd be out here," You glance up at the mention of your friend's name. Why had she been talking to Luna? "And that you may require a study partner,"

Strange. She had never wanted to study with you before. "You don't have somewhere else you'd rather be?"

Hermione shakes her head. "Luna can be quite convincing but if you'd rather study alone, I can go."

"No," the reply comes a little too quickly. "I mean, uh... you can stay. I'd really like the company."

"Great, Ron and Harry are rather distracting when it comes to studying," She plops herself down at the other end of the archway by the end of your feet. Your knees were now pulled a little closer to your chest, propping up your potions book. "I can quiz you if you want?"

"Can I ask you something?" You pose the question as you sit up a little straighter trying to give her more room; handing over the book in the process.

"Of course," Taking the boom, Hermione's hand brushes over the cover but she opens it and begins flickering through the pages. She had the same textbook so you're not exactly sure what she expects to find.

"Why are you here?" The rustling of pages comes to an abrupt stop as her eyes settle on yours but only for a moment.

"To study?"

"You've never been interested in me before," you reply bluntly. "I don't see what's changed now? What exactly did Luna say?"

"Just that you like me," Wide eyes of surprise, your stomach sinks. She was joking right? She had to be. "And that you think I don't like you which is perplexing. So she told me where you usually go to study and that you'd very much appreciate my company."

"I'm gonna kill her," you growl under your breath, sinking down against the stone. How you wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole right now.

"I also thought it was only right that I apologise for the other day," you can't even bring yourself to reply; too scared you'll somehow embarrass yourself further. "I shouldn't have spoken about Luna that way- I also apologised to her. Are you ready?"

Anything to help forget about what Luna had purposely done, you nod your head a little. Setting this whole thing up was a sweet enough idea but she didn't have to straight-up tell Hermione that you liked her. Hopefully, you could just play it off as friends. A silence settled between the two of you as Hermione searches through your book. "I'm gonna say a potion and you just have to list the ingredients, simple enough?" You can feel her eyes on you but can't bring yourself to look back. "You alright?"

"Mhmm,"

"Are you sure?" She questions. "I didn't mean to embarrass you or anything. I'm sure Luna had the best of intentions."

"Just say a potion," It's even more awkward when she brings it up the fact Luna told her. "Please,"

"Okay, how about... Draught of Living Death?"

"Uh..." for a second your mind seems completely blank. Taking a deep breath you settle your nerves a little. "Standard potioning water, Powdered Root of Asphodel..." your brow furrows in concentration. "Infusion of... Wormwood? Valerian root, A Sopophorous bean and-"

"Sloth brain," Hermione finishes. "Good job. Okay, let's try..." The pages flutter between her fingers for a moment. "Exstimulo Potion."

Exstimulo potion. You rake your brain for any memory of it; If you remember correctly it was a potion used to boost magical energy. It was a beginning level potion so it won't be too complicated to make. "Re'em blood... Granian hair, Snowdrop maybe, and like... uh... Bitter root?"

"For an extra point, what colour should it be?"

That you knew almost instantly. "sky blue."

With each passing question, your confidence grew around the same speed as Hermione's smile did. You liked to think that your extensive knowledge of potions was impressive but in all honesty, some wouldn't see it that way. "You are really good at this,"

"I enjoy potions. They value knowledge over skill more than some of the other classes- that's not to say potion-making doesn't require skill and vice-versa. " You explain, moving so your legs now dangle over the edge similar to how Hermione was sitting. "It's probably my best class but I like the study of ancient runes too. What about you? I imagine you're brilliant no matter the class."

"I wouldn't go that far," Her gentle laugh fills your ears, filling you with such an innocent sense of glee. "I like most of my classes though, I would take more if I could."

"Of course you would," You giggle to yourself. "I heard in the past you used a time-turner just to attend more classes."

"Guilty," She offers you a smile. You'd done research on time turners, they were interesting little devices but it took a lot of guts to use one. "It was worth it."

"It's a pretty smart way to use one," No surprise considering who you're talking to.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure. Anything." Hermione fiddles with the corner of the page she has settled on.

"When Luna said you like me, I'm guessing she meant..."

The fire in your cheeks spread hot and fast which had the butterflies in your stomach going crazy. She really had to bring it up again? She couldn't have just ignored it and moved on? "...yeah." You admit quietly. Handing your textbook back, Hermione slips down onto her feet

"So this was her way of setting us up... hmm," Spinning on her heel, she looks to the sky. The sun was beginning to set so it was illuminated by an orange glow. "For a girl so imaginative I would have expected something a little more than a study date."

"I like studying," She sharply turns back to you.

"As do I," She offers a gentle smile. "But I think we should do something a little more traditional for a first date, don't you?"

"First date?"

"Only if you want to,"

"I... yeah. I'd love to."

#Hermione Granger x reader #hermione granger #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #Hermione x reader

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journalxxx · 3 years ago

Text

By Hook or by Crook (7)

“So! How does it look?” Toshinori asked, with a booming voice and his best hands-on-hips pose to kickstart the endeavor with a healthy dose of enthusiasm.

He wasn’t particularly successful.

“Daunting. Impossible. Like I’m gonna die of old age before I’m anywhere close to making a change.”

“A little optimism goes a long way, you know?”

“...I may not die before I’ve lugged away some of this.” Midoriya amended tentatively, scanning the extensive length of garbage-filled beach stretching before them. “And… what doesn’t kill me will make me stronger?”

“That’s the spirit!” Toshinori gave him a pat on the back, strong enough to make the boy stammer forwards. He walked around the back of the truck and started unloading the few supplies he’d brought.

“Wear these.” Toshinori threw him a pair of work gloves. He hoped he’d eyeballed the size right. “I trust you’re up to date with all your vaccines.”

“Uhm.”

“Hopefully no one’s dumping organic waste in here, but I’ll bring some traps if you see any rats. They won’t solve the problem, but it’s better than letting them scurry around freely.”

Midoriya’s eyes darted between the gloves and the beach with muted horror. “R-Rats?”

“Scared of rats?” Toshinori couldn’t help but tease. “Did I mention that I had to wade through the sewers for half an hour before finding you and the sludge villain the other day?”

Midoriya instantly looked mortified. “I-I’m sorry-”

“Not your fault! Don’t apologize!” Toshinori tossed his hands in the air. This kid desperately needed to learn the basic mechanics of humor. “I’m just saying that heroes can’t be squeamish! Rats come with the job, as well as a variety of nasty stuff and filth.”

“Right.” Midoriya followed him as Toshinori, cooler in one hand and bag of papers in the other, sat down on the last steps of the stairs. He picked an egg sandwich for himself and fished a folder out of the bag, opening it on his thighs and starting to read it.

It took him a few seconds to realize that Midoriya was still staring at him, as if awaiting further instructions.

“Well? Have at it!” Toshinori gestured widely at his new playground.

“Oh, uhm, okay.” The kid donned the gloves and took a single step towards the piles before pausing to look at Toshinori again. “I thought you wanted to ask me… stuff.”

“Yes, but I’m not sure you can handle working and talking at the same time without building up some stamina first.” Toshinori answered, eyeing the boy’s scrawny frame critically. “We’ll talk while you’ll be taking a break to catch a breather, which is probably going to happen sooner rather than later.”

“Oh… All right.” Midoriya turned away, his arms hanging limply from hunched shoulders as he muttered to himself. “...Where do I even start...?”

“From the small things. Working your way up to the heavier objects.” Toshinori explained patiently, then gave him a pointed look. “I get the feeling you’re procrastinating.”

The boy approached the closest stack… and did nothing. Was he ever going to stop waffling and get cracking? “Meanwhile, you’ll just, uh… do your own thing?”

“Surely you don’t need me to guide you through the elaborate process of moving objects from point A to point B, do you?” Maybe the kid detected the hint of annoyance in Toshinori’s voice, because he finally, finally set to grab the closest piece of junk- “...Oh. Okay, that’s not a great start.”

“What?” Midoriya stopped halfway through picking up what was probably the first electric fan ever invented, all the way back in the Iron Age. “I haven’t even done anything yet!”

“Bend your knees, not your back. Otherwise you’re going to- do you really not know this? Isn’t the correct way to lift weights Household Chores 101?”

“Oh, right, I know.” Midoriya rearranged his stance in a way that was less likely to earn him a slipped disk within the next two hours. “Do people really lift things like this though? It’s… a lot harder than the normal way.”

“For your legs, yes. For your back, no. You’ll thank me when you’ll be old enough to realize you aren’t made out of rubber.”

Toshinori munched slowly while he watched the kid carry his first loads to the truck. That act alone seemed to distract Midoriya to an amusing degree, his gaze often flicking to meet Toshinori’s eyes for just a moment before shooting back in front of him with blatant self-consciousness. Toshinori allowed the boy a few minutes of warm-up, just the time for him to finish his sandwich and sip a small cup of apple juice, before deciding to kick things into proper gear.

“Running from the truck to the heaps and vice versa would help you gain some endurance too, rather than leisurely strolling back and forth.” Toshinori commented as Midoriya walked past him.

The kid stopped in his tracks and regarded him with a mix of horror and aversion that vaguely reminded him of death-row inmates when faced with their executioners.

“What?” Toshinori went on, unperturbed. “Are you expecting to get fit without getting tired?”

“No, of course not-”

“Besides, you’ll need to keep a swift pace if you want to clear the whole beach before the admission exam.”

“Wha- All of it?! Before the…” Midoriya sputtered, arms wrapping more tightly around the broken chair he was holding as if that was supporting him instead of the other way around. “Y-You never said…”

“But of course! They don’t do things by half measures in U.A., so why should you?” Toshinori grinned. “Plus Ultra, am I right?”

Midoriya let out an incredulous chuckle. “You’re kidding, right? There’s no way I can do something like that...”

“Depends on how much elbow grease you’re willing to put into it.”

Midoriya’s expression shifted minutely as he caught onto Toshinori’s seriousness. “But… but that’s impossible! No matter how hard I work, I can’t- I can’t move stuff like that!” He griped, pointing at the wrecked husk of a van half-buried under a mound of assorted refuse. “Even if I do my best-”

“And pray tell, what’s your best?” Toshinori stood up and walked to the kid, ditching the whimsical demeanor. If playful cajoling wasn’t enough to stir him, maybe it was time to bust out the big guns. “What’s the heaviest you can lift? The fastest you can run? The hardest you can push yourself? When’s the last time you actually tried your very best, and how did it fall short?”

Toshinori was already well and truly spent for the day, but he let the provocation and drive in his words stoke the fire within him, and it flared. The Symbol of Peace broke out of his diminutive shell among dramatic wisps of steam, ready to bestow his wisdom more effectively than his rickety counterpart ever could.

“Do you know what’s the only way to gauge your limits? Reaching them. And the only way to get stronger?“ Toshinori held out his arm between them, and clenched his fist resolutely. He relished the sensation of unyielding muscles tensing and bulging under his skin, tangible proof of the truth of his assertions. “Gritting your teeth and smashing past them! Little by little, but constantly!”

Midoriya had only witnessed that transformation once, poorly and by accident, and it showed. The chair had slipped from his hands without him even noticing, and now lay forgotten at his feet on the bare sand. The kid was gawking at him with wide eyes and mouth agape, the very picture of spellbound rapture. It was far from an unfamiliar reaction from whoever was graced by the Symbol of Peace’s presence, and yet it was still flattering, every time.

“You’ll never improve if you keep dwelling on what you think you can do now. Focus on what you want to do next. Visualize it as a clear goal. Build an image out of it, and then carve it in reality. If you really want that van to move, then it will move. If you really want this beach to be clear, then it will be. But you have to put your back, sweat and heart into making it happen!”

All Might captivated his one-man audience with the usual effortlessness, boisterous showmanship and honest positivity deeply intertwined in a way that boggled his detractors’ minds, but that felt so natural and appropriate to Toshinori. He’d made an art out of it, down to the rumble of his voice and the firmness of his gestures and the levity of his attitude, the art of highlighting and displaying the very best parts of himself so that they could resonate louder, better, brighter.

“So what will it be, young Midoriya? Will you clean up this place within the next ten months or not?”

“Y-Yes. I will.” That had done the trick. It was obvious from the way Midoriya’s back straightened and his expression toughened. It was obvious from the spark kindled in his eyes, a reflection of Toshinori’s own passion, still lacking in heat but full of potential.

“Then you’d better get down to it!” The hero sealed the deal with a radiant smile and a thumbs up. “Time’s a-wastin’!”

“Yes, sir!” Midoriya picked up the chair and dashed towards the truck to unload it there, then he immediately bounced back down the stairs and towards the nearest heap of waste. Toshinori observed the boy’s next rounds with his unwavering smile and few approving nods that kept the kid a bit lighter on his feet.

How much easier it was for All Might to touch people’s hearts. How much easier to inspire, to reassure, to nurture. How much easier everything was for All Might, really. If only that shining beacon of hope wasn’t shackled by the whims of a withering body, how much richer society at large would be for it.

Toshinori let out a deep exhale that took more than just air out of him, and the flame settled down to a low glow. He couldn’t hold back a few wet coughs, and he promptly turned his shrunken back on Midoriya’s concerned glance to sit back on the cool steps.

Unfortunately, there was a lot more than motivation to strength training. Right off the bat, Toshinori could tell that Midoriya wasn’t going to last twenty full minutes of workout. He honestly didn’t know that an ostensibly healthy individual could reach the ripe age of fourteen with such poor body awareness. The boy had coordination and balance on par with a toddler’s: he stumbled on his feet, he tripped on sand, he nearly fell off the stairs twice before realizing that trying to climb them while his view was obstructed by the very items he was carrying might be a less than optimal solution. He seemed to be unaware of the existence of entire muscle groups, and Toshinori had to physically get up and mime movements for him to understand how to exert force more efficiently. Not to mention that he needed incessant needling lest his sprints quickly devolved into lax jogs.

This whole training thing was going to be… an interesting experience, Toshinori could already tell.

Exactly sixteen and a half minutes later, the boy all but collapsed on the stairs beside Toshinori, gasping for air and wiping his forehead on his sleeve.

“B-Break?” He pleaded, quite redundantly.

Toshinori took pity on his plight and pushed the cooler in his direction. “Have a drink.”

“Oh, thank you…” The lack of polite refusal made Toshinori suspect that Midoriya had forgotten to bring his own water.

“There’s sports drinks and fruit juice in there too. Save the snacks for after you’re finished, food and heavy workouts don’t always agree with each other.” Toshinori had packed food primarily for himself, expecting their after-school meeting to last long enough for him to slot in one or two meals in the meantime, but he had taken care of adding a few extras for the kid. A good idea, because the possibility of Midoriya face planting on the ground halfway through out of sheer exhaustion seemed more and more likely by the minute.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to…”

“I promised bribes, didn’t I?”

Midoriya flashed him the tiniest smile, and eagerly drank some water while Toshinori retrieved a small journal and a pen from the other bag. He skimmed through the list of preliminary topics he’d scribbled on the first page under Tsukauchi’s advice, wondering which one he should tackle first.

“All right.” Deciding to follow his instinct in spite of basic common sense, Toshinori decided to begin from the end. “These phone calls of yours. Give me an idea of what they’re like. The last one you had with your father was on April 1st, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me about it. Everything you talked about, as precisely as you can remember it.”

The good thing was that Midoriya’s memory was very accurate, and he was able to recall the whole conversation basically step by step. The less good thing was that said conversation was largely commonplace and unremarkable, consisting of very ordinary small talk and inquiries about school, grades, news, local events-

“Quirks?”

“Mh-hm.” The boy nodded. “We always end up talking about quirks, in one way or another. Quirks and heroes. It’s always been… a common interest.”

“Always, uh?”

“Yeah, we’ve been doing it since… forever, really. I’ve always found quirks fascinating, and he has lots of great insight to offer.”

“I can imagine...” Toshinori mumbled. Asking who had initiated that habit was probably pointless, it sounded like it had started too early in the boy’s life for him to remember - or even to understand if he had been deliberately led to develop that interest. Some intriguing nature-versus-nurture speculations could be made on the matter, but they weren’t likely to aid Tsukauchi’s case. “And in what way do you talk about them?”

“We… analyze them, discuss them. What is known for sure about a certain quirk, what can be deduced from footage and descriptions of its use, what its unmentioned limitations might be, how it could be further developed… You saw my notebook, right? Basically the kind of stuff that’s in there.”

“Wait.” Toshinori blinked. Could he have already stumbled into a treasure trove of All For One-certified information? “You mean that all that’s written in that notebook was dictated by your father?”

The kid almost choked on his next gulp of water, and shot Toshinori an almost offended look. “No! No, no, it’s all stuff I found out on my own! Well, almost all of it, there are some additions of his here and there, but… Uh, I’d say at least 90% of it is mine, and 10% of it is his… Actually, more like 95% and 5%-”

Well, that sounded less promising, but it was still a lead. “So he’s been basically teaching you how to conduct your own quirk analyses?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say teaching. I wish our school teachers were that engaging...” Midoriya let out a small sigh. “But I guess we do go about it a little like with school essays. Research, deadline, discussion and all that…”

“Pardon?”

“Well, every month we decide which heroes or quirks we’re going to talk about the next time - back in March we chose Hawks, Kido and Snatch for last month’s call, for example. During the rest of the month we gather information and draw our conclusions, and then we compare them during the next chat.”

“You’ve got quite the well-oiled routine going on there, haven’t you?”

“Actually, I think it’s just to give me a chance to make my own deductions with a clear head instead of on the fly.” Midoriya scratched said tousled head in embarrassment. “I bet he doesn’t even need to do any research, he’s always on the top of his game. I’ve never been able to, uh… one-up him, you know? He always knows what I’m driving at, and somehow he always brings my hypotheses two or three steps further than where I stop.”

Toshinori answered with a non-committal hum. No surprise there, the man was a living quirk storeroom complete with its own self-congratulatory, sentient database. “You don’t seem too bothered by it though.”

“Oh, I’m not. It’s not like he’s ever… disappointed or angry or anything, even if I don’t get stuff. He just enjoys chatting, I guess.” That he surely did, Toshinori grimly thought. Way too much. “And I do too. It’s kind of like a game. Or a challenge.”

“A challenge?”

“Yeah, uh… How can I explain…?” The boy drummed his fingers on the bottle as he collected his thoughts. “Okay, for example: one of the first things dad asked me about Hawks was what shape his wings are, and what I could deduce from that about his flight capabilities. Which was a trick question! I knew it as soon as I heard it, because I’d already figured out the real answer during my research.”

“Ah.” Toshinori blinked. “And… how is that a trick question, exactly?”

“Because Hawks doesn’t actually fly! Not like a bird, at least, so his wing shape doesn’t matter!” Midoriya beamed, and suddenly Toshinori realized that that was the first real, genuine, enthusiastic smile the boy had given him since they’d met. And, without exaggeration, not crying, panicking or grimacing made him look almost like an entirely different person. “He simply can’t! Humans can’t fly even if you stick a pair of wings to them, they’re just too heavy! Other heroes who can fly properly are mostly transformers, like Ryukyu - their whole bodies change when they shift, bone structure and all - but Hawks’ body is entirely human if you exclude his wings.”

Midoriya reached for his backpack and drew out the same charred notebook Toshinori had signed days earlier. An item so vital to the kid’s daily life that he always had it with him, apparently, even more essential than beverages during a workout session. A peculiar, if questionable, trait.

“What Hawks actually does isn’t flying, it’s levitating!” The kid held the notebook open before Toshinori’s eyes on a spread page dedicated to the hero in question. “He uses the second facet of his quirk, the telekinesis that allows him to control his feathers singularly! That also explains his incredible speed, which is completely unjustifiable if you only take into account normal bird flight aerodynamics. His propulsion is powered by his feathers - and each of them is quite speedy and powerful on its own, so it stands to reason that he would be lightning-fast when his wings contain so many of them pushing him in unison!”

Toshinori politely elected to wait for the onslaught of words to subside on its own, although he already suspected that it was a little like standing right under a waterfall and waiting for someone higher up to turn off the faucet.

“That said, that doesn’t explain everything about his quirk… For example, a single feather of his is capable of lifting and transporting an adult person, that has been extensively documented. Yet, he loses the ability to levitate relatively soon after dispatching too many of them - he becomes unable to float even when he still has at least several dozens of them attached to his body. We couldn’t figure out why that happens with the information we have. Maybe it’s harder for him to apply his power to himself, that is often the case for emitters. Maybe it messes with his proprioception, and he can’t control the feathers he hasn’t detached as finely as all the others…”

If there was one thing Toshinori was absolutely certain of at this point, it was that the kid wasn’t short on breath any more. “And this is the part you inferred on your own.”

“Yep! And dad agreed with all of it!” Midoriya’s smile grew even wider. It was astonishing how much it didn’t look like dad’s deranged, shark-like, nightmare-inducing sneer, and Toshinori could only send a quiet thanks to the heavens for that. “This is all guesswork though. Do you… by any chance, do you know if we were on the right track? I’d be really curious to know…”

“Ah, I can’t help you there, kid.” Toshinori felt suddenly on the spot. “I’m not acquainted with Hawks, nor do I know more about his quirk than the average person.”

“Oh, I thought… Since you’re both- I mean, I thought All Might may have met him during the billboard chart events, what with them both being in the top ten.”

“We passed by each other, yes, but we were never properly introduced. He wasn’t particularly interested in rubbing elbows with the old guard, I suppose.”

“Oh. Well, that’s his loss, for sure.” Midoriya, funnily enough, pouted. “Pity, I was wondering… Even if he doesn’t fly, he does flap his wings in a way that resembles a bird’s. I wonder if that’s intentional, to mislead opponents and prevent them from figuring out how he actually moves. Or maybe he does it subconsciously…”

“I’m afraid I really don’t know…” Toshinori had never met Hawks on the field either, it wasn’t common for accidents to require more than a single big-name hero to intervene these days. Especially if one of them was the number one, who often showed up first and invariably solved any incident in mere minutes-

Toshinori suddenly came back to himself and almost facepalmed in frustration. Why was he letting himself be interrogated about completely irrelevant hero trivia? He was the one asking questions! God, he was bad at this. “And your father had nothing to contribute about all this?”

“Not about this specifically, but he did raise a point I hadn’t considered.” Midoriya looked up at the sky, once again lost in his very wordy, very deep lucubrations. “Hawks has an astonishing control on his quirk. He can use his telekinesis to move hundreds of feathers at once, to sense his surroundings, he can even harden them and turn them into weapons. He made Fierce Wings into an incredibly versatile ability, and he’s so young too… And yet, there’s no record of him attending any hero school or training facility in Japan, nor abroad. He claims to be self-taught, but… admittedly, it is hard to believe. One would think he must have had some excellent education and tutoring to make it into the top ten when he was only eighteen…”

Toshinori didn’t reply. Midoriya looked back at him when the silence stretched, and whatever he spied on Toshinori’s face made him immediately backpedal. “I-I mean, it’s odd, but, uh… not suspicious per se, nor a sign of anything… weird or bad about him. There are many heroes who, ehr, prefer to keep their personal history private, especially geniuses, and that’s fine! They have all the right to! Same goes for their quirks, it makes total sense-”

Toshinori massaged his left temple slowly. Right, better just nip this topic in the bud before it got irredeemably out of hand.

He peered again at the notebook in Midoriya’s hands. So All For One had been imparting occasional, amicable quirk analysis lessons to the kid for a good decade, which sounded suspiciously like the kind of knowledge a potential underling or successor might use. On the other hand, Toshinori could think of a million other ways for the Symbol of Fear to instil skills in his son - all of them remarkably more efficient, safe, manageable and ruthless. The whole thing was contradictory in a way that didn’t sit right with Toshinori.

“Mind if I take another look at that?” Toshinori had been in a bit of a rush the first time round, and he’d only taken a cursory glance at the contents of Midoriya’s notes. But if there was a chance of those pages containing words uttered by All For One himself, a more thorough examination was in order.

“Not at all! But, uh…” Midoriya was fast to hand out the item, but his eagerness to assist was even faster to dampen. “Are you going to retain this as evidence too?”

“Mh, I don’t think that will be necessary...” Right, the poor kid’s house had probably been ransacked even further after Toshinori and Tsukauchi’s first pass. No wonder he was worried about losing this prized possession too. “But if it will be, I can make a copy of it for you to keep, so you won’t lose all your, uh, data.”

“Oh, thanks! That would be great!” The kid perked up instantly. He was so easy to please. “Although… I guess I should make a copy of it myself anyway. It’s already kind of… unrecoverable. I could detach the pages with All Might’s sign and preserve those separately, and just photocopy everything else…”

Toshinori’s imagination mercilessly supplied him with the picture of a new addition to Midoriya’s bedroom decor, his five-second poorly-made signature hung to a wall in an elegant frame. He repressed a groan, deliberately neglected to point out that he could simply provide as many new authentic signs as needed, and directed his attention back to the scorched edges of the notebook. “Right… What happened to this thing, anyway? Did someone put it in a toaster?”

Midoriya let out a totally not nervous chuckle as he wrung his hands in a totally not nervous fashion. “Oh, uhm... You know…” Toshinori didn’t, actually, but the kid didn’t elaborate either.

Well, he was allowed to have a modicum of privacy, still. Toshinori let the issue drop, and nudged the boy with his foot. “You seem well rested. Back to the trash you go.”

Midoriya shuffled to his feet less than enthusiastically, and resumed toiling away at his task. While still checking on him often, ready to poke and prod at the first hint of sluggishness, Toshinori browsed through the kid’s notebook. While the contents were indeed worthy of attention, they were scarce in quantity. It must be rather new, since less than a quarter of the pages had been filled. However, the promise of more material to be discovered made Toshinori withhold his judgement on the matter for the time being.

Once that was done, he continued his perusal of the few files Tsukauchi had already put together about the Midoriya case. Toshinori had practically begged his friend to let him have an active role, any active role in the case: he simply couldn’t bear to twiddle his thumbs until someone else kindly pointed him to All For One’s hideout for another overdue thrashing. He simply needed to be involved, or he’d probably start crawling up walls within a week.

Questioning the kid was pretty much the only suitable occupation for him, currently… Well, it was either that or questioning Mrs. Midoriya, and Toshinori was fairly sure that his brain would leak out of his ears if he heard any more details about All For One’s romantic escapades. He wasn’t exactly an expert when it came to investigative work, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he was going to spare no effort to earn some results. If that meant poring over reams of police reports in the hopes of spotting some helpful clue, so be it. At least it would keep him busy, and busy was good, especially in trying times.

He’d applied the same logic to Midoriya, in a sense. The boy seemed the kind of person who’d very easily overthink himself into a negative spiral, even in less dire circumstances than the messy family drama he’d found himself into. It would do him good to focus on a better future, rather than on his depressing present. Giving him a goal to set his sights on would keep him going more smoothly.

At first Toshinori had thought to motivate him towards his dream career, but it turned out that the boy’s strategy about the admission test was… nebulous at best. Not that he could truly blame him for it: fourteen-year-old Toshinori didn’t exactly have a multi-step plan towards becoming the Symbol of Peace either, one couldn’t help being somewhat scatterbrained at that age.

The illegal dumping site had been a serendipitous discovery, and cleaning it up was the perfect type of goal to incite the boy towards. It was very obvious and straightforward, and required no intricate planning: he simply needed to roll up his sleeves and buckle down. And the muscle he’d build while doing it would serve him well for heroic purposes too, so it was a win-win on all fronts. Not to mention that some good old physical exertion would help him sleep at night, which he was still struggling with, if the persistent bags under his eyes were of any indication. Toshinori dearly missed the times when that trick still worked on him too, when driving himself to the brink of exhaustion was a guaranteed one-way ticket to restful and regenerative dreamland. Nowadays, if he accumulated even a sliver of excessive fatigue, all he got was… well, fatigue. And a metric ton of unrelenting body pains and lasting debilitation.

The rest of the afternoon went by smoothly and unremarkably. Midoriya drudged through many rounds of garbage disposal with decreasing energy and verve, but that was to be expected. Toshinori collected more barely relevant and generally useless information, but that was to be expected too. They were both in for the long haul, there was no point in getting upset about it. Eventually the sun started to set, and Toshinori beckoned the boy back to him with a handwave.

“You have more of these?” Toshinori said, tapping his index on the big 13 on the cover of the notebook still on his lap.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Could you bring them with you next time?”

“All of them?” Midoriya seemed frazzled.

“If you still have them, yes. Would that be a problem?”

The boy scratched his head as his cheek reddened slightly. “N-No, not a problem, but some of them are really… I finished the first one when I was seven. They aren't just outdated, they’re… ehr, childish. Just doodles and misspelled ramblings.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not like I’ll be grading them.” Not yet, at least. Toshinori smirked at his own private joke. Maybe he should grade them, as a small practice run. “I just want to give a quick read to a few things here and there.”

“O-Okay…”

“Good. Well, I think we can call it a day.” Toshinori rummaged in his cooler to fetch a chocolate energy bar, and tossed it to the exhausted boy. “Catch.”

Despite the warning, Midoriya did not catch, and the snack bumped against his chest and fell to the ground with a sad clack. Reflexes were MIA too, apparently. What a rare specimen of a prospective hero Toshinori had crossed paths with.

“T-Thank you!” Midoriya immediately picked it up, unwrapped it and shoved it into his mouth as he hopped into the passenger seat of the truck. Whether it was real hunger or fear of passing as rude, Toshinori couldn’t tell.

The drive to Midoriya’s house was brief. The boy was too tired to chat - as if they hadn’t already had their fill for the day. When they arrived and Midoriya climbed out of the vehicle to be on his way, Toshinori finally addressed one last pressing issue.

“Tomorrow your father is going to call you.”

“Yeah.” The kid’s eyes dropped to the ground. Maybe Toshinori should have brought it up sooner. Way to end the meeting on a sour note.

“How are you going to handle that?”

“I’m not.” The boy shrugged. “Mom will tell him I just got my tonsils removed. It's… safer for now. I think.”

Toshinori nodded. “Let’s take a day off then. Even if you can’t speak, he might want to say something to you, and it would be strange for you not to be at home while recovering.”

“Okay.”

He looked so very small, and so very young like that, bathed in the warm hues of sunset, but with no real warmth to his eyes and demeanor. He was too small and too young to be dealing with this shit. No one was old or big enough to deal with any of All For One’s shit, really. Toshinori would have to make sure no one would have to ever again.

“Thank you for your help today. It’s very appreciated, believe me.” Toshinori offered, with his most sincere smile. “Feel free to text me or Tsukauchi if anything comes up, you should be able to reach at least one of us at any hour of day or night.”

“Okay. Thank you. Have a good evening.”

“You too, kid.” Toshinori watched him until the door of his house closed behind his back, then he drove off.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #deku #izuku midoriya #All Might #Toshinori Yagi

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lovemybluebully · 4 years ago

Text

Danger Room Level 1

Posted this at the beginning of the year on my DA account. Thought I’d throw it up on here. This was my first Wolverine tickle pic in 4 years! O_O

https://www.deviantart.com/lovemybluebully/art/Danger-Room-Level-1-865337680

Wrote a little story to go along with it.

Story is below the ‘Keep Reading’ line.

*/M Tickle Fic (Obviously lol) "Any other surprise challenges for me today, bub? Or is that all ya got?" Wolverine smirked confidently up at the team leader of the X-men, glancing over his shoulder at the pile of rubble consisting of destroyed weaponry and dismembered sentinels and robots of all sizes. Cyclops only sighed as he shook his head and looked down at the Canadian brawler from the control room of their training facility, having exhausted almost every combination of attacks that he could think to throw at him.

These scenarios of Wolverine slicing and dicing up every obstacle and foe were quite predictable and honestly getting a tad boring to watch over and over. Scott decided it was time to try something a little different. "No, this just isn't working. These upper level programs are just all foreseeable for you. Lets try something new. I say we scrap everything and start over from scratch. How about we start you at level 1?"

Logan's smirk disappeared as he frowned up at the other man. "Level 1? Yer kiddin' me, right? That's the program the Professor uses to train the kiddies."

"Trust me Logan it'll be perfect for you. Since you've always skipped over the bottom levels you'll have no idea what they contain so you won't be able to predict them so easily. Hell I don't even know myself exactly what is on each level, but lets give it a shot! Maybe we'll both learn something." Scott actually wasn't lying since he himself had been too competent for those beginner programs when he had joined the X-men. It was likely that Logan would just blow right through them, but he was curious and quite frankly desperate for a change of pace. "Fine. But this is gonna be just a waste o' time," Logan grumbled as he lazily stretched out his arms and cracked his neck. "Don't underestimate the Danger Room and dismiss this program so easily. It may be aimed towards the less experienced, but should still provide its own formidable experience. Remember to stay alert and don't let your guard down." Wolverine just scoffed and blew off his advice like he normally did. "Yeah whatever Slim. Lets get on with it."

"Ok great. Now just a moment here. I'm initiating level 1....," Scott uttered with some fast typing on the control board before pressing one final button, "Now." They waited for a few quiet moments, but nothing happened. Logan was about to quip some sarcastic remark when finally the Danger Room began to show some activity. A compartment on the wall opened and two gloved robotic hands being controlled by metal tentacles began to slowly make their way over to him. Logan snorted in disbelief and shook his head as he looked over the two appendages and noted that they were not holding any kinds of weapons; basically looking completely harmless.

"That's it? This is ridiculous. What's next, a pillow fight? Not that I expected this crap to be any kinda challenge whatsoever," Logan rolled his eyes as he raised his hands into the air and released his deadly claws; ready to dispatch the advancing robot hands with a quick swipe once they closed in. Not even a second later he quickly found his arms ensnared as two metal tentacles had crept in from behind to successfully restrain him much to Logan's shock. He growled as he tried to slice at the tentacles with his sharp claws, but they firmly held his arms away from each other just above his head. The distraction had been just enough that he barely had time to notice that the gloved hands had now reached him as one of them wasted not a moment to grab hold of the hem of his uniform's shirt and roughly jerk it upwards, exposing his bare stomach.

"Hey! What is...?!" He shouted in confusion; his words cut off as the other hand immediately shot forward and buried it's furiously wriggling digits right into his muscular belly.

Logan hadn't listened to Scott. He had let his guard down completely when he had seen this "threat" first enter the room. His overconfidence was now going to be his downfall for mocking the capabilities of the robot hand; the hand that was now ruthlessly tickling him. This tactic was a complete shock to him, and having not put up any of his mental defenses in preparation the laughter exploded out of him as soon as contact was made. "Ahahahaahaa! Wha-Whahahat's goin' ohohohon?! Stahahap thaaat!" He howled out at the mindless hand that relentlessly continued tickling all over his sensitive abdomen; the other hand holding his shirt securely out of the way. Scott too was in complete awe by just what method the program had decided to use, though he couldn't help but grin as he saw the situation that his normally cantankerous teammate was now in. It was already a known fact by the mansion's inhabitants that Logan was surprisingly ticklish as his female team members found it quite endearing and took great delight in ganging up on the burly mutant at times. Heightened senses did have their drawbacks. Still nothing that Scott himself would partake in, knowing that while Logan might put up with it from the ladies he was pretty sure he'd be skewered on the spot if he even made a hint at attempting such a thing. In a way he now felt that he had a sense of power in having Logan in this position. "See? That's what happens when you underestimate the situation, now get to work Logan. Tickling probably isn't a real world offensive that you're going to run into, but no harm in being extra prepared." Wolverine's claws remained out, but he couldn't move his arms enough to free himself. Unable to think straight he continued to fail in his efforts to come up with a strategy to get out of this aside from yelling up at the amused operator in the control room. "Cyyyykehehehee! Tuhuhurn thihis shihihihiiit ohahahahoff!!" Arms bulging he thrashed uselessly in the grip of the tentacles, trying to block the torturous hand from his body by lifting his knee to no avail. He'd been tickled worse than this before, but never had he been this helpless to defend himself. Meanwhile Scott mused over the scene before him. It in fact was a little stupid to be messing with one of the world's deadliest mutant's like this, and he was pretty sure there would be Hell to pay later. His hand hovered momentarily over the button to shut down the Danger Room, but then he pulled back. "No, I think you just need a little more time to figure this out. I have faith in you. I mean, this program is only used to train the 'kiddies', right?" Yup. He was pretty sure Logan was going to kill him after this. "Fuhuhuhuck yooooouuuu!!" Logan cackled as he desperately tried to regain some kind of focus though was only barely able to retract his claws back into his hands, knowing that they were of no use. "Aw c'mon Logan. You're not that ticklish, are you? Can't resist just one little hand tickling you?" Scott couldn't help but tease a bit, having on more than one occasion seen Logan nearly lose his mind from just having his stomach tickled by his teenage sidekick, Jubilee. No sooner had he said that when a third hand began to move in from out of Logan's sight before grabbing the squirming mutant right below his ribs as the fingers playfully dug in over and over again.

"Bwahahahahahahahahaa!! Noooo!! Gehehet 'em offa meeheeheehee!!" Roaring with laughter from the added torture Logan was regretting not taking the lowest level of the Danger Room more seriously. With his arms being held out of the way he couldn't even use them to help guard his body no matter how hard he pulled to free them. It wasn't much longer before his legs began to weaken as he attempted to sink to the floor to hopefully get him a split second of reprieve.

He was allowed to move to the ground, but the hands were unrelenting. With a firm tug the restraining tentacles around his forearms pulled him down onto his back as a few more hands now appeared seemingly out of nowhere to join in tickling under his arms and the other side of his ribcage.

"No!! No!! Stahahahap ihihihihit!! Lemme outtahahaha heeheeheeeere!!" The Wolverine howled as he kicked and squirmed like crazy; his armpits being one of his worst spots. Two other metal tentacles quickly slithered over and grabbed onto each leg to stretch him out and prevent him from curling up in defense. Tears crept out of the corners of his eyes from laughing so hard as so far he had made no progress in getting loose. "Very disappointing Logan. I thought for sure you'd have passed all these lower levels with ease. Well it seems we've uncovered your true weakness. Something that your healing factor won't protect you from. We'll probably have to repeat this level over and over until you get it right," Scott grinned wider, only half serious as he liked to push Logan's buttons at any given opportunity. He was hardly listening though; too focused on the incessant tickle torture. Just when he thought it couldn't get any worse two additional hands made their way over and quickly tugged off his boots, revealing his twitching bare feet as Logan's eyes bulged in panic. "HEY!! Hey hey waahaahaait a m...minute!! No don't!! Not the-AAAHAHAHHAHAHA!!" Fingers wildly scratched at his tender soles, tickling from his wide heels to up under his curled up toes with not a thing he could do to stop them. He was laughing harder than he'd ever had as the tears began to roll down his cheeks. He absolutely could not handle having his feet tickled and once had accidentally kicked Rogue for trying. Luckily she is a tough woman though she used it as an excuse to really punish him with his ankles trapped in the crook of her super strong arm while Logan hysterically cried 'Uncle'. This was more than he could stand. Being spread out and tickled in all his most sensitive spots at once with no way to guard himself was where he drew the line. He loathed the thought of what he was about to do, but he couldn't hold back the frantic pleas that came pouring out. "NAAAHAHAHAHAHOOOO!! N-NO MORE!! STOPSTOP!! PLEEHEEHEEEEASE!! I CAN'T..HAHAHAHAHAA..CAAHAAHAAN'T T-TAKE THIHIHIIS SHIIIIIT!!" Scott was just enjoying the show as he chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. "Wow. Who knew? All one has to do to defeat Wolverine is to tickle him and he'll be begging for mercy. Better hope none of your enemies ever find out about this one."

And with that he finally pushed the button to shut down the currently running program in the Danger Room. He'd have been more than happy to let it keep going, but even he could feel some sympathy for his frenemy and knew once he started begging that he had had enough. Logan instantly panted in relief as the hands all stopped tickling him while he was gently released from the restraints, everything then retracting back into the chambers that they had emerged from. A giggle escaped him here and there as he still had a phantom feeling of the fingers all over on his body.

Scott slowly clapped his hands in jest from the control room as he grinned down at the seemingly lifeless body. "Not bad, Logan! I think you almost had it there, but I'm sure you'll do better next time! So what do you think? Ready for level 2?"

The middle claw that immediately popped out of Logan's fist crudely gave him his answer.

#tickling #tickletorture #tickle #ticklish!wolverine #ticklish!logan #wolverine #loganhowlett #xtas #dangerroom #ticklefic #scottsummers #cyclops #marvel #tickleart

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virtueangel · 4 years ago

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limitless.

chapter one.

wc: 2,034. original publish date: october 1, 2020.

Winter seems to drag on this year, pushing back Spring farther and farther until it steps off the chessboard of seasons completely. It's early April, but there is still snow piled up on the sidewalks, filling in the cracks of the concrete squares and melting into slush on the smooth surface. John F. Kennedy and Cleopatra walk down the sidewalk now, grasping hands dearly so as not to slip on the melted snow. Cleo is bundled up tightly in a black cardigan, John's varsity letterman jacket draped on top for extra warmth. She huddles close to the boy as she walks, trying to bask in some of the natural body heat wafting off of him. They like to walk in silence -- sometimes it's easier that way. Their questions don't have to be answered if they're never asked. But sometimes, the burden of carrying around the question is greater than the weight of hearing the answer.

"Why don't you ever take me on real dates, John?" Cleo asks in her shrill voice, almost whining.

"I don't know why you'd want me to, Cleo," he replies coolly, still grasping her hand. She wears elegant black gloves which hug her lean fingers fittingly. The cashmere is smooth and inviting against John's palm.

"Because some girls like romance, John."

"I thought you liked making out with me."

"I do!" She relaxes her hand, still holding onto John but not as violently. "But I don't feel like your girlfriend when I'm being shoved into a closet. I just feel like a pair of breasts and an open mouth."

John stares ahead nonchalantly. "That's because you're not my girlfriend, Cleo."

She lets go of his hand completely and scoffs. She shoves her own hands into her pockets -- John's pockets -- and watches her feet on the sidewalk. Her shiny black boots tick against the pavement, her movements slow and even steadier now that she doesn't have the boy's support. "Some girls like being girlfriends, too."

John sighs, shaking his head in exasperation. "We've been over this, Cleo. I don't date, but you like me and you're hot."

Cleo clenches her jaw. "That's a shitty thing to say, JFK. Don't you like me, too?"

JFK shrugs. "I like your ass."

The girl rolls her eyes, quickening her pace to walk in front of John. She slows down again, realising that the bottoms of her new boots are too slippery to risk a pace faster than normal. "Whatever. We're almost to my house anyway."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

Cleo lets out a huff before grabbing onto JFK for support again. She wraps her gloved hands around the loop his arm makes as it sticks out of his pocket. "I'm not gonna argue with you when we're right on the verge of a make-out session," she says.

"I thought you didn't want to be used for your body."

She shrugs before giving the shameless answer, "I don't, but you give exceedingly good head."

John F. Kennedy smirks. "Oh, you bet I do."

Cleo blushes, and tries to hide her face from John.

"But I can't today."

“What?” She asks. “Why?”

"Because I've got a lot of homework," he says, knowing it's a half-assed excuse.

Cleopatra turns to him, her eyebrow raised. "You don't do homework, John."

"I have to help Van Gogh today," John explains.

"Van Gogh?" Cleo repeats. John nods. "He needs your help?"

John rolls his eyes impatiently, wondering why Cleo can't seem to get it. Wondering why everything about her is so superficial that she can't understand that he has a best friend; why she isn't the only one who matters. "No, he doesn't need my help, he just doesn't like being alone on Friday nights."

"Neither do I," Cleo protests, batting her eyes desperately. She means the action to come off as flirty, but she knows she's going to lose this fight.

"So call some of your other friends. Abe, Joan-"

"Abe Lincoln and Joan of Arc are both cool enough to have plans on a Friday night," she combats.

JFK smirks. "Surely you won't let them be cooler than you."

Before Cleo can protest, they are walking up her driveway, her hands still wrapped around his arm. John walks her up the three steps to her front stoop, whirling her around so her back is to the door and her face is to him. He holds her gloved hands delicately, pretending to feel bad about blowing off his hot not-girlfriend to go spend time with his emotionally deprived best friend. It does sound depressing and lame when he hears it in his own head, but there's no going back now.

"Call me tonight?" Cleo asks, the slightest hint of a beg in her voice. She tries to hide it again under a flirtatious lilt, but it falls flat for the second time this afternoon. Cleo already knows what JFK is going to say.

"I never call, Cleo. People who are dating call, and I-"

Cleo cuts him off with an exasperated eye roll. "-don't date. I know."

"So why did you ask?"

Cleo shrugs. "I don't know. But I'm going now."

Nonetheless, she steps toward John for her expected kiss. He leans down to give her one, as per their afternoonly routine, but it doesn't bury itself as deep as usual. John keeps his mouth closed, despite Cleo's best efforts to engage him in the endeavour. When she realises her plan isn't going to work, she pulls away and scrambles into her house, swiftly shutting the door behind her to close off her embarrassment from the rest of the world. She has enough to worry about it seeping through the cracks.

***

JFK knocks on his best friend's door nearly ten minutes later, his feet sopping wet in his tennis shoes. He'd made a mistake when dressing that morning. He could see the snow intruding the sidewalk from his bedroom window, but he'd still opted for his sneakers, full of breathable holes and heat-accommodating fabrics. His big toe feels like it could snap off at any moment. He thinks if he were to take off his cotton sock and look at it, his toe would be blackened with the final stages of frostbite.

Vincent Van Gogh answers the door himself, wrapped in a fleece blanket and feet smothered in three layers of sock. Kennedy can't help but feel a little bit jealous, sure his toes are nice and cozy in their thick woollen fortress.

"JFK," Van Gogh greets the boy, standing aside to let him through the door. Van Gogh wonders how Kennedy ever could've noticed him at school; he stands at 5'5” while the varsity cross country runner was 6'1" last time he measured. Van Gogh is often a traffic cone to be tripped over.

"Sorry I'm so late. Cleo was bitching at me," JFK apologises.

"That's okay. I'm used to being alone," Van Gogh shrugs.

"But I know you especially hate Friday nights. You hate when there are sports games because the town gets loud and the drunken yelling echoes through the neighbourhood, bouncing off of the shingles and spinning like tops in your ears -- ear."

Van Gogh scoffs. "Spare me the poetry, Kennedy. You don't need to romanticise my mental illness, okay? It's not fucking fun."

"I thought you liked all that flowery prose -- all that girly shit."

The shorter boy shakes his head, feeling even smaller under Kennedy's scrutiny. "Don't talk down to me. And just because literature is written like a painting doesn't mean it's 'girly'. You like my artwork, don't you?"

"I like the one you did for AP art last year... the self-portrait."

Van Gogh smiles internally, secretly pleased with his best friend's answer. "I never thought I'd get a real compliment out of you, Kennedy."

"I compliment you!" He protests.

Van Gogh shakes his head, still wearing his smile. His lips are like daisies soaked in blood -- full and dripping. "Not without coating it in some condescending insult."

"Whatever, Gogh. You didn't want to be alone, and I'm here. So what now?"

"Well, so long as I'm holding you hostage, you may as well do some homework."

"I don't do homework," JFK reminds him.

Van Gogh smirks. "I know that, Kennedy. I just had to remind you of your morals before you go off and give me an honest compliment again. Weirds me out when you go soft, even for me."

JFK follows Van Gogh to his bedroom. The hallway walls are oddly bare and would go without notice if they hadn't been painted a murky blue. No pictures are hung, which strikes Kennedy as uncomfortably odd every time he visits his best friend's house. JFK's dads have hundreds of pictures of him stuffed into each nook and cranny of their house -- it's striking to see a pair of parents who care so little about documenting their child's early years.

Gogh pushes open the door to his room tentatively, almost as if he's scared there'll be an apparition seated on his bed. He shudders at the thought, trying to shake it off by opening the door all the way. He sits on a chair instead of the bed, nervous to accidentally sit on top of the ghost and give it a perfect chance to tunnel its way up into his organs. JFK notices the boy's shuddering and raises an eyebrow, taking note of the closed window and the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Who knew such a small boy could be so hopeless at keeping warm?

"Cold?" Kennedy asks, and Van Gogh looks up from the spot on his hand where he'd been anxiously picking at a scab. "And don't do that; the skin's almost healed," he adds.

Van Gogh narrows his eyes at the boy on his bed. "Since when do you care whether or not my scabs are healed?"

JFK shrugs, nervous to admit that he feels like he has to care since his friend's parents so obviously don't.

"Sorry I snapped," Van Gogh covers quickly. "Reflex."

Kennedy nods dismissively as if to show that he understands.

A couple seconds tick by, filling the room like a hose in a swimming pool. The time collects in the bedroom, spilling into every corner and fault line crack of the walls. It begins to overflow, and that's when Van Gogh can't stand the silence anymore. He invited Kennedy over so he wouldn't have to drown in stillness. Why can't JFK talk, dammit? Why is he so self-absorbed that he can't carry on a conversation for longer than five minutes at a time?

"Do you wanna read a book?" Van Gogh suggests, but it comes out in an urgent blurt. Maybe that's for the best. It gets Kennedy's attention.

"I don't read books."

Van Gogh rolls his eyes, cheeks burning a violent fire from embarrassment. "That's because you don't have the attention span to," he spits. "I could read it to you."

JFK's head snaps up. Gogh's cheeks darken an even deeper shade of red and he can feel his heartbeat in his face. Fuck, he thinks. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Okay," Kennedy says at last. "Read me a bedtime story." His overconfident, annoyingly-flirty tone is back, and Van Gogh smiles in relief. The blood drains from his cheeks and his heartbeat follows, little by little.

He excuses himself from his chair to slide a book off of his shelf. Kennedy lies down on the bed, his head on the pillow and his too-long legs spilling over the edge. "Give me a blanket," he demands, clearly serious about the "bedtime" thing. Van Gogh rolls his eyes, but fishes a blanket out of his bottom dresser drawer and throws it over to Kennedy nonetheless. JFK has just finished unfolding the blanket and throwing it over himself when Van Gogh settles back into his chair, lifting the cover of the book with his long fingers gingerly. His nails grow out past his fingertips which is normally a girlish look, but Kennedy can't help but wash his eyes over the boy's hands anyway. It doesn't look girlish on Van Gogh. Nothing looks girlish on Van Gogh.

#jfgogh #jfk clone high #clone high #van gogh clone high #fanfiction #van gogh x jfk

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stae-yong · 4 years ago

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a dream in a bottle [j.jh]

genre: fluff, romance, fantasy word count: 11.4k

Year 2059.

Everyone has lost their minds finding solace in a world full of chaos. Dreams in a bottle are now being used like a drug in order to fulfill their wildest fantasies. Have you ever dreamt so good, you never wanted to wake up?

“You’re the dream I go to, every time I close my eyes.”

a/n: this is my first jaehyun fic, and the first fic i’ve written :> please understand if i’ve made any errors. i wanted to write this since i started stanning nct and i hope you guys enjoy!! oh and listen to this, it inspired me to write this story. hopefully it could set the mood as well.

“Happy birthday to me,” y/n said dully as she blew her candle. The smoke from her two and three candles went to her eyes which made her squint. For the past week, all she ever did was cry herself to sleep thinking how miserable she would spend her birthday this week ever since her boyfriend left her for ‘his future’ which she snorted at as she remembered how his arms were wrapped around her waist as he kissed this new girl and who just enrolled in his arts class.

She then started to arrange her gifts which mostly consisted of plain old birthday cards which her so called friends just gave to her at the last minute since her existence was forgotten due to the busy days of work. As she went through her gifts, she noticed another postcard from her parents that are probably touring around Europe. She scrunched her nose in disappointment, “What a good way to start my 23rd year of living on this planet,” she muttered. Y/N stood up pushing around all the teared pieces of gift wrap as she tried to navigate herself around the living room. As she moved, she accidentally kicked a box tas was buried under piles of garbage.

A white box with pink hearts decorated around it. On the side of a box, a sticky note was attached with a letter with handwriting that was too familiar.

Dear y/n

Happy Birthday! I’m sorry we can’t spend it together this year, you know how hard life is. But I do hope you enjoy the following days with my gift. I gave this to you to spice up your birthday. It’s definitely one of a kind, I hope you could forget your dickhead of a boyfriend with this. Call me once you try it ;)

Love,

Mei.

“If this is a box of lingerie or condoms, Mei can rot in hell,” Y/N grumbled. This definitely should be worth it. She peeled the sticky note, as a remembrance of the gift as she carefully opened the box. Inside were three small bottles of iridescent liquid that seemed like it had been mixed by a 10 year old playing with glitters and water. A small card was placed above the bottles with a note saying “The best dreams happen when you are wide awake,” with several instructions to only drink one bottle every night for good results. Y/N contemplated if she should drink from it now considering that its nearly 10pm. She spent her whole day moping around her room munching on junk food while thinking about how lonely and boring her life was. Maybe this potion is worth the try, and maybe, like what Mei said, it could spice up her life.

She took the bottle in her hands shaking it a bit as she watched the small pieces of glitter swirl around as if it was luring her to drink it. At first she tasted like vanilla, smooth and milky then suddenly it turned to taste like strawberry mixed with different other fruits. Soon after, Y/N fell on her bed as she drifted off.

————

Y/N felt as if she was thrown into a whirlpool as her head continued to spin. Bright light hit her face making her squint as she tried to slowly adjust to what she was seeing. Suddenly, people started to bump her as they made their way around the city. Y/N tried to make sense of where she was, it was a city that looked like it existed way back in the 1900s with the way people dressed. Women and men of all ages walked around the street as they clung unto their loved ones. Women were dressed in puffed blouses and below the knee skirts as they topped it with a trench coat to warm them from the cold. Men, on the other hand, were wearing top hand sand white button up with suspenders that were too old-fashioned for her liking as they paired it with trousers. As Y/N continued to make sense of what was happening, she passed by a shop where she saw her reflection, she was wearing the same thing everyone was wearing.

Great, how on Earth am I supposed to figure out what to do in this dream.

As she walked around, she noticed a long queue that led to a movie theater. Everyone seemed excited to watch this new ‘musical’ that only happens once every year and that is during the 23rd of Christmas, ‘The Impossible Dream’ was its title. She noticed that every poster posted on the streets had the same title written in cursive with a time, date, and location set. As she adjusted her coat that was wrapped around her, she noticed a ticket on her right pocket. “The Impossible Dream, 6pm,” she muttered. “I drink a stupid bottle of dream and now I have to watch a boring musical,” she added as she pouted remembering to message Mei that she won’t be drinking anymore of her gift. Her eyes wandered from the people around her to the buildings, she knew no one in this dream and the faces she see are not even close to familiar. The place itself looks like a 90s movie setting with all the broadway and lampposts hanging around.

“Excuse me, this is the end of the line, right?” Y/N turned to look around at a man around her age with caramel brown hair and smiling as his dimples poked out. She stared at him longer as she admired his features, okay, this is definitely a dream because no one else in the real world would look as good as this fine man standing behind her. “U-um, yeah,” she cleared her throat as she gave tight smile embarrassed as she was caught staring.

“Come on, you gonna pretend like you don’t know me now?” He said as he pouted. Y/N looked at him confused, never in her life did she encounter him, maybe this is a preset of the dream but she decided to play dumb instead. “Hmmm, I don’t think I remember,” she said as she tried to think of a name that matches his face.

“It’s Jaehyun,” he said as he poked her cheek with his index finger as he shook his head disappointingly. “Are you my boyfriend?” Y/N blurted out as she felt her cheeks heat up at her sudden question. Jaehyun felt flustered as his ears turned red. “Um, well, I don’t know,” he said nervously chuckling. Y/N nodded as she turned to the front once again, boyfriend or not it doesn’t matter but for sure the handsome guy standing behind her played an important role in her dream. She tried to remember if she knew any Jaehyun in the real world but no one came close. Heck, no one even looks like him. Was she really that desperate on moving on, she literally dreamed of having a boyfriend way better than her ex? Okay, maybe.

The line started moving as people made their way towards the entrance of the theater. “I didn’t know you were interested in watching musicals,” Jaehyun said as he stood beside her as they both made their way in.

“Well, maybe you don’t know a lot about me then,” she shrugged as she gave him a teasing smile. “We’ve known each other for four years and you forget my name?” He teased back as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder to move her from the people that were constantly passing by to get to their seats. Y/N felt her heartbeat speed up at the intimacy feeling his chest pressed against her shoulder as she muttered apologies to those passing by.

“Watch where you’re going,” he muttered under his breath as he looked at her. Y/N blushed as she looked up to him. The lighting in the room giving his visuals more justice as it surrounded her head making him look like he has a built in halo.

As she made her way to her seat, Jaehyun followed closely behind as they both sat together. The play started as the lights dim but Y/N couldn’t care less about what was happening in the play as she felt bothered by Jaehyun’s presence. How did he have this effect on her when he doesn’t even exist? It was also their first time meeting. She slowly shifted on her seat to face Jaehyun in a discreet way as she tried to steal a glance at him. Jaehyun noticed her shifting taking it as a sign of uncomfortableness, placing a hand gently on the area above her knee squeezing it lightly and giving her a look of concern.

Y/N froze in her seat as she looked back at Jaehyun who was staring at her worriedly, eyebrows furrowed. She looked away quickly as she cleared her throat, nudging Jaehyun’s hand away by accident as she shifted to face forward. Jaehyun chuckled as he continued to watch the musical smiling to himself. “What’s so funny?” Y/N said as she crossed her arms trying to concentrate on the show but finding it difficult with Jaehyun seated right beside her. “You should take a picture, it would last longer,” he whispered in her ear as she felt his warm breath brush against her cheeks making it heat up. Thankfully, the lights were dim and Jaehyun wouldn’t be able to see how red her cheeks were from the constant display of affection he was showing to her. She wasn’t staring, she was just trying to capture his face on her mind so that when she wakes up from this dream she could finally move on from her ex.

“I still haven’t forgiven you for what you’ve done,” Jaehyun whispers again, Y/N looks at him in confusion to see him leaning slightly to her side with eyes still focused on the show. “What have I done?” She said raising a brow. She has only been inside her dream for 20min, she barely got to do anything except stare at the piece of art seated right beside her.

Jaehyun looked at her in disbelief as he flicked her forehead earning a smack on the shoulder. “You left me in the rain, I told you to call me but you didn’t,” he said as he looked at her again. Y/N frowned, not really knowing what to say. “Sorry, I was busy,” At this point, making up stories would only be the solution to questions as it was only a dream that she may forget when she wakes up. Jaehyun continues to stare at her with an unreadable expression. He nods anyway and she gives him a small smile.

“Are you really watching this?” Y/N asks bored out of her mind as the main lead in the musical continues to cry as she longs for her love one who she only meets inside her dream.

“No, I’m just here because I like sitting beside you,” Jaehyun replies shooting her a smile, his dimples making an appearance as they always seem present when she looks at him. She scrunched her nose in disapproval, definitely too good to be true. Prince Charming likes her in her dream, her love life must definitely be fucked up for her to be dreaming about these things.

“We can get out of here if you’re bored,” Jaehyun shrugs as he took her hand gently. He jutted his chin toward the exit raising a brow, “Okay fine, but I’m not spending any money,” she muttered making Jaehyun laugh as he pulled her from her seat. She didn’t even know how she would able to live in this dream.

As they walked around the streets, Y/N tried to ask more about herself so that she wouldn’t have to lie all the time she entered this dream. Never in her life did she experience a dream so realistic, lately, she had troubles sleeping and if she ever got to dream, it would be long forgotten the moment she woke up. A warm hand wrapped around her cold one pulling her out of her thoughts, her gaze shifted from the street to Jaehyun who was grinning at her.

“Do you remember how we met?” She asked as he swayed their hands playfully while walking. “Of course, it was definitely my favorite day,” he chuckled as he recalled how they first met. It was the first day of university and Jaehyun was late. It definitely wasn’t a good first impression to his professors considering how he got into the university because of a basketball scholarship, he used to be a star player back in high school which led him to many offers from big schools that wanted him as the ‘face’ of their team. Although, Jaehyun chose the one closest to his home as he didn’t want to stray farther away from his family, at the same time, his friends attended the same university as him. He tried to discreetly make his way inside the classroom as his professor continued to scribble on the board. Sitting down on the farthest seat as possible, he tried to catch up on the lesson they were having

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” He heard a small voice say as he shifted his gaze. There she stood in front of him, wearing a yellow dress with her brown hair softly framing her small face accentuating her brown eyes that seem to hold the stars. Jaehyun gulped nervously as he shifted on his seat.

“No, you can sit here whenever you want,” he said a bit too excitedly as he continued to stare at her. The girl gave him a small smile as she sat slid on the seat beside him taking out her notebook and pen.

“I’m Y/N, by the way,” she whispered extending her arm which Jaehyun stared at a bit for too long, “Not that it matte-“ before she could put down her hand Jaehyun grabbed her hand firmly with a smile. “Jaehyun,” he said smiling which made her flustered. “Care to share why you’re late?” He whispered as he tried to start a conversation without getting caught by the professor. He didn’t even understand what was being taught anymore as all his attention was occupied by the girl seated beside him. “The traffic was too bad, why are you late?” She shrugged as she leaned closer to him with a teasing smile. Jaehyun snorted as he slightly bumped his shoulder with hers. They were close already despite the small amount of time they knew each other, “You’re watching me?” He teased as he raised an amused brow at her. Her nose scrunched as she bopped his nose with her pen. “No, I saw you make your way through the door earlier and decided to seat beside you,” she chirped making Jaehyun’s heart flutter. “If I knew better, I would say you stalk me,” he replied trying to brush off the tremble in his voice caused by the amount of flips his heart was making. “Just interested,” she beamed and diverted her attention back to the board. Jaehyun took a glance at her shaking his head at their exchange, silently taking note that he should definitely get her number after this class.

Y/N looked at Jaehyun with an unamused expression as he shrugged, “It’s true though! You tried to hit on me on the first day,” he said earning a punch on the shoulder. “I don’t think that’s how it went though!” She retorted blushing as she didn’t even know if Jaehyun made everything up. It was her first time meeting him, yet in this dream it seems that she’s been in it for years already. She did, however, like how straight forward she was based on Jaehyun’s story, maybe she did like herself better in this dream.

“You asked for my number, so basically, you hit on me,” she stucked her tongue out as she harshly tugged Jaehyun in what she feels like the direction of her house is. Jaehyun pulled her back as they stopped under a lamp post with the light illuminating his face in all the right angles. He leaned close until they were eye-contact level as Y/N tried to keep a blank expression even if her heart was basically going to burst from how close Jaehyun’s face was from hers as she tried to remember all the small details of his face. “You said you were interested first, so I guess I win this argument,” he said smiling at her. Y/N brushed it off as he pushed his face away with her index finger. Jaehyun then wrapped his arms around her waist as he pulled her closer making her grab his forearms for support at the sudden action. “What are you doing?” She said nervously as he started to sway from side to side as he looked at her making her blush at the sudden attention he was giving her. There was no way he couldn’t see how red she was right now. “Dancing, we used to do this all the time,” he said as he continued to sway to some tune he was humming. “I don’t know how to dance,” she muttered as she looked down trying her hardest not to step on his feet. “It’s fine, I can lead,” he said confidently as he continued to stare down at her making her stare at his chest as she couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Hey Y/N,” he mentions when he noticed how quiet she has gone. “Hmmm?” She replies looking up to him as she stared at the area between his brows, his eyes too much for her to take, afraid that if she looks at him she might as well just kiss him there. “I really like dancing here with you but do you mind?” He says as he looked down. Y/N followed his gaze and saw her shoe lace untied itself probably because she kept stepping on them as they danced.

“Oh, let me-“ as she tried to bend down to tie it, Jaehyun pulled her up lightly by the arm as he kneeled before her making her flustered she looked around for people as he basically looked like he was proposing to her. “I can’t have you fall for anyone else,” he grinned as he tried to stifle a laugh. Y/N huffed as she nudged him strong enough for him to fall backwards catching himself with his arms as he tried to stand up.

She walked quickly as she tried to go to what seemed like her house, with Jaehyun following closely behind her as he jogged trying to keep up with her speed. “You’re welcome,” he winked making her flustered once again as she crossed her arms. “I’m home now, aren’t you going?” She said though she really didn’t want him to go yet. She didn’t even know if that was her house but it seemed like it, somehow it just felt right to be there at that moment. Jaehyun chuckled as he took a step back putting his hands in his pockets.

“I hope you had fun today,” he smiled as he ruffled her hair. Y/N nodded as she entered her ‘house’. “Stay safe, Jaehyun,” she said softly as she took one last look at him. Before she could close the door, she felt Jaehyun stop it.

“Wait, before you go,” he held the door with one hand and the other finding the back of her head as his lips lightly touched her forehead. Y/N felt her heartbeat speed up as she closed her eyes at the feeling of his soft lips on her forehead.

“Meet me in your dreams,” he said as he smiled at her before finally closing the door.

——

Y/N jolted awake as she heaved heavy breaths. She felt as if she ran a marathon with how fast her heart was beating. She was back in her bedroom as she looked around. Nothing seemed to change, except the small box that was on top of her bedside table with now only two bottles of dreams. She sighed as she checked the time, she was out for about twelve hours already, although, in her dream only a small amount of time has passed. As she made her way out her apartment, she received a call from Mei.

“So how was it?” Mei asked enthusiastically as y/n could feel her interest on the other end of the line. Sighing she continued to walk down the streets in boredom, wasting time on finding something that would catch her eye.

“I didn’t know a dream could be realistic,” she muttered back. “And there’s this guy,” she added as she thought of this is really a great time to mention a character from her dream, especially to Mei, she woulld probably think she’s gone crazy. “What guy? Are you seeing someone?” The other responded, desperate to know if her friend has finally moved on. “What? No, I mean yes,” Y/N defended.

“It’s not about my ex, actually, there was someone in my dream.” She said. “I don’t really know if I met him before, but his features are very new to me. And you know what they say, that our minds can’t make up images, and everyone in our dream is someone we have met or saw before,” she added. There was no way she saw Jaehyun, if she did then she would probably remember him judging by how good looking he was. “Really? Well, you probably saw him in streets before,” Mei reasoned as y/n could only nod in response even if Mei couldn’t see her. “Anyway, you should really make that worth it. I heard the manufacturer of the shop closed down,” she mentioned as you made your way into a small coffee shop you saw across the street which seemed quite popular judging by the amount of female customers in there.

“Well, I only have two bottles left. I’ll call you when I finish it. Thanks for the gift by the way,” y/n replied as she ended the call

The cafe she entered was small, yet had a homely feeling to it. There was an amount of middle schoolers who look like they just finished school lining up as they perked their heads towards the counter. Y/N squinted as she saw the cute cashier and barista taking their orders. The cashier with white hair that for some reason seemed to match his big intimidating eyes and sharp nose and jawline. He wasn’t as big as the barista, but his body complimented his features as he smiled towards the group of girls who tried to catch his attention. The barista, on the other hand, was tall and had broad shoulders. His hair was dyed black, but he seemed really friendly despite his strong aura.

When it was her turn to order, she now understood why a lot of women in this city practically visited this shop everyday. From afar, she noticed how good-looking the staff were in the cafe, but now looking at them up close made her throat dry.

“I would like one iced latte,” she said shyly as the cashier smiled at her. She squinted her eyes at his name tag, Taeyong. Cute. “Are you new here?” Taeyong said as he pressed numbers on his screen for her order.

“Umm, I live around here. But it’s my first time in this cafe,” she mentioned as she looked around trying to distract herself from meeting his eyes.

“Cool, may I have your name?” He chirped as he smiled again towards her raising his brow. Y/N furrowed her brows as she stared back at him, “A-are you trying to ask me out?” She stuttered bewildered at the sudden question. Taeyong laughed as the barista behind him accidentally knocked a cup off as he turned around to look at her stifling a laugh as well. “What? Um, you’re cute but I need it for the cup,” he gestured raising a cup in his hand making y/n embarrassed as she heard the girls from behind whisper about how assuming she was.

“Oh, sorry,” she said lowly as she muttered her name quickly and paying as she moved to get her order.

——

Y/N sat on her bed holding the box of two bottles. Taking one, she shook it again as she saw the swirl of iridescent liquid calling her in. The whole time she mentally prepared herself for what was to come. To say she was excited to meet Jaehyun again was an understatement, she wanted to take the bottle again as soon as she stepped home but she remembered that there was only two left.

She took one bottle out deeply breathing in and out as she downed it all feeling the familiar taste touch her lips as she entered her dream once again.

When she woke up again she was in a garden, sitting up right as she felt something on her lap shift. Looking around, she noticed she was still in the same setting as before only, it was day and everything seemed bright as people continued to walk around minding their own business.

“You look beautiful from this angle down here, but I would appreciate it if you would look at me too,” a voice says as she looked down only to see Jaehyun lying down on her lap staring up at her with a small smile on his face. She blushed once again when she saw him, last night she thought he was breathtaking under the lamp post but under the sun he looked so much better with freckles scattered on his cheeks his eyes a lighter shade of brown and his dimples, ever so present, poking out.

“You were saying?” She says as Jaehyun stood up from her lap. “I’m starting to think you don’t pay attention to anything I say,” he complained as he dusted himself. Y/N stared right at him, wondering what they would do next.

“I need you to accompany me. I have this project going on and Johnny’s too busy to go with me,” he said as he took her hand. She wasn’t sure who Johnny was but she assumed he was his friend. Though she didn’t mind what his character would mean in her dream as he hasn’t showed up yet. She noted to herself that later on she would figure out who Johnny was and probably make the most of the second bottle she took. As they neared a building that look somewhat like a huge library, Jaehyun pulled her in a hurry as they made their way through old books.

Y/N groaned as she watched Jaehyun scan through the book once again trying to find the right thing. It was her dream, why is nothing interesting happening. “Jaehyun, what am I to you?” She asked as Jaehyun’s attention quickly went to her. His ears reddened as he rubbed the back of his neck shyly, “You said you weren’t my boyfriend. And you kissed me on my forehead, so who are you?” She asked as she hesitated mentioning that kiss as she felt herself become shy as she remembered how she woke up right after. Jaehyun nervously chuckled, to be honest, he himself did not know what their stand was. All he knew was that he wanted to protect her, and that he wanted to be with her always. It was all he ever knew since he met her, it was as if it was a role given to him by the gods to stand by her side no matter what.

“I’m not sure y/n, what do you want us to be?” He asks unsurely afraid of the rejection he might receive. Silently praying she won’t say ‘friends’. Y/N was taken aback as the question was thrown back at her. She didn’t know what they were supposed to be, nor did she know Jaehyun as much as he claims to know her.

Seeing the hesitation on her face, Jaehyun felt disappointed but decided to brush off the thought. “It’s okay, you don’t have to think about it.” He said as he gave her a pained smile which wasn’t unnoticed by y/n. “I can wait,” he said under his breath as he looked at her. Y/N looked at him in surprise, it was her dream. She could say whatever she wants, “I like you,” she blurted out as she waited for his reaction. Jaehyun’s ears, if possible, became more red as he heard her confession. He tried to stop the smile forming on his lips as he put back the book on the shelf.

“Well, that’s great because,” he said taking a step near her as he held both of her hands in his. “I am absolutely smitten by you,” he added ash he wrapped his arms around her shoulders pulling her into a hug. Y/N smiled as her cheeks hurt. She hugged him back, now this is definitely one of her best dreams ever. “Does that mean we can go on dates now?” She said as she pulled back. If she could live in a dream, then she would want to live in this dream forever.

Jaehyun grinned, “Lucky for you I booked us a date,” he said as he winked.

“Okay, maybe I don’t like you anymore,” y/n said as she made her way out of the library with Jaehyun laughing a bit too loud behind her.

————

As they made their way out of the library, Y/N found her hand once again wrapped around Jaehyun as he intertwined their fingers together. She smiled at Jaehyun’s affection. It was as if his hand automatically finds hers wherever they go.

As you both walked hand in hand, Jaehyun led you to a planetarium. “Have you ever been?” Jaehyun asks as he navigates his way through the streets. Constantly pulling you aside as you try to avoid people walking the opposite direction.

“I’ve never been to one actually,” you say wondering if you’ve ever been to one with your ex. To think of it, you really didn’t have enough time in the real world to explore the city during your past relationship. You were either curled up in your apartment or burrying your head in books. The dates you had previously were just last minute decisions as if he was just forced to take you out because you were together. But this time, with Jaehyun, it seems as if you actually got what you deserve. It may seem cheesy, but your heart fluttered when Jaehyun mentioned that he actually planned this date. It could be a preset in the dream, but that didn’t matter to y/n, all that mattered was that someone took the time to care for her and remind her how special she is. Even if that someone doesn’t really exist, she chose to ignore the thought. If there was a person who would break your heart again, you would be honored to have your heart broken by Jaehyun. And even with a broken heart, you would choose to love Jaehyun with all those little pieces.

“You should see the stars, they shine as bright as you,” Jaehyun added as they made their way through the planetarium. There wasn’t much people walking through, and everyone was speaking in hushed voices. As they walked through the planetarium, they entered a dark room with only the ceiling illuminated by galaxies and small celestial beings. Jaehyun looked at you with a small smile playing on his lips. He was fascinated by the way your eyes seem to shine even in the dark, like your eyes held the most beautiful stars as you admired the projected ceiling of light. Y/N then looked at Jaehyun who was still staring at her in awe. “You should take a picture, it would last longer,” she beamed as he scoffed lightly.

“So you steal lines now?” he said with an amused brow lightly applauding her sarcastically as you shoved him on his shoulder. “What else do I steal?” she said as they made their way around the room. “Probably my heart,” Jaehyun shrugged as he felt his ears turn red. He quickly looked up inspecting the ceiling as Y/N shot him a look of disapproval.

“If I wish on that star,” Y/N said pointing to a projected shooting star, “will my wish count?” you asked as you stared at Jaehyun whose eyes are still trained towards the ceiling as he looked at the constellations.

Jaehyun laughed as he put his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Maybe,” he said as he looked up. Y/N closed her eyes as she clasped her hands together. She knew it was pathetic, to be making a wish in this dream. But her pleas and prayers didn’t seem enough to calm her desperate heart.

I wish I could live in this dream a little longer.

They both sat down in the middle as they continued to enjoy each other’s presence. No one was around anymore as it seemed like the whole planetarium closed. Y/N already lost track of time, she didn’t know what has already happened to her in the real world, but for sure she was sleeping for the whole day already. Jaehyun, on the other hand, was still deep in thought as he slowly laid down on the floor with an arm tucked behind his head as a pillow, the other resting on his stomach.

“Do you ever feel like somewhere out there, there’s another version of us doing the exact same thing we are doing now?” he mentions as he continues to stare into space. Y/N glances at him and copies his position as she adjusted herself to be laying down beside him. Not really knowing what to say, Jaehyun took it as a sign to continue.

“I feel like I’ve been living in a cycle. It sucks really cause everyone I know either forget me, or they space out. Or it was as if I never really know them to begin with,” he says, frustration clear in his voice. His eyebrows furrowed as he continued to stare into the black space displayed on the ceiling. “You know, the other day, Johnny acted as if he didn’t really know me. I don’t even know if he was playing with me but it was like it was his first time seeing me,” he added as he turned to meet your eyes that were just focused on him. “It’s like how we saw each other back in the theater, you both acted the same way,” he pushed himself up as he supported himself with his arms.

“It’s the same every fucking time. I meet someone knew, we get to know each other, then all of a sudden they forget who I am,”

“I feel like I’m a character in someone’s dream,” Y/N gulped nervously as she slowly sat up. Jaehyun still confused as he blankly stared at his lap. Y/N didn’t know what to say, she didn’t know how to tell him that he was right and he was just a figment of her imagination and that all of this was from a stupid bottle her friend gave her for her birthday. You were scared to say something, afraid that revealing the truth would mean that you would wake up and that meant that you only had one bottle left to be with Jaehyun. Y/N grabbed his hand and gave it a light squeeze with a smile, hopefully, assuring him that everything will be alright.

“Promise me one thing,” he says as he faced her seriously. You nodded in response as you waited. “Don’t forget me,” he says carefully watching her reaction. Y/N chuckled as she shook her head, “That’s easy to do, Jae,” she laughed as she shaked their intertwined hands playfully. “Promise me you’ll also stay,” he added seriously. Y/N froze when she heard his words. To forget him was hard, she could remember him everyday when she woke up. But to stay was another thing, how could she stay when she only had one bottle left? How could she stay when he was just a character in her dream? How could she stay with someone who only exists in her memory?

She looked back at him, and the moment she did, she quickly regretted her actions. He was looking at her with so much hope in his eyes. Noticing her silence, the hope in his eyes turned into grim acceptance as he felt her hesitation. Y/N squeezed his hand making him look back at her. She had no idea what came in her, but she decided if its for Jaehyun, she would try.

“I promise,” she said firmly, eyes burning with determination. After all, a broken promise is better than none at all.

——

Y/N felt dizzy as she tried to get up from her bed as she leaned towards the bed stand to get her phone. Her mouth fell dry, remembering the promise she made Jaehyun as she dialed Mei’s number. “Help, I need to do something,” she said as soon as the line was answered.

“What is it this time? Did you finish the bottles already?” Mei asked groaning in response as you called too early for her liking. “No, tell me where you bought the bottles,” she said as she tried to balance her phone between her shoulder and ear as she wore pants. “I need to find who made those bottles,” she added disappointed at the lack of response from the latter. “I’ll send them to you, but I don’t think they’re open,” Mei replied, y/n sighed. She didn’t know why she made that promise, or how she would fulfill it. Back in her dream, everything seemed possible but now, all that was left was empty words that she regrets saying. She didn’t even know why she had a need to keep the promise to Jaehyun, he didn’t even exist to her disappointment.

After she received Mei’s message, she quickly headed out to go to the said shop. Her heart pounded nervously as she drove to the address. It was in a secluded part of town, there was no residential area near it and it seemed like a place that no one frequented to judging by the lack of public transportation that went to the area. She had to take a cab, and the look the driver gave her meant that it wasn’t a place to be in in the first place. As she stared at the shop in front of her, she suddenly felt so alone as the cab quickly left blowing a gust of wind. The small bells tingled when she walked in. The store was small and cramped with only a small counter near the end as she tried her best not to step on any of the antique items that were for display. Ringing the small bell on the table, she tried to inspect the place a bit more.

Her eyes squinted as she spotted a familiar poster hanging on the wall between two large dream catchers. ‘The Impossible Dream’ it read as small details were printed around. Her eyes widened in shock. It was the same poster from her dream, could it be that the musical actually existed? Would that mean Jaehyun existed? Before she tried to move further to get a closer look a stern voice spoke from behind the counter.

“What brings you here? We are closed,” her head whipped to the direction of the voice. There stood an old woman who was smaller than her with her white hair tied neatly up in a bun, eyes narrowing towards Y/N.

“That poster, where did you get it?” You said pointing in the direction of it as you tried your best not to falter in front of her gaze that seemed too strong for you to handle.

“That poster was made years ago by my ancestors, does it look familiar to you?” The old lady replied. Y/N nodded in response still debating whether the possibility of Jaehyun existing was real or not. “You took the bottles, didn’t you?” The old lady pressed on as Y/N muttered a small yes. “That was a mistake, you should have never taken it in the first place. I suggest you go home and continue on with your life, dark magic is not to be played with,” she said as she made her way towards the door behind the counter.

“No! Wait, I have some questions,” Y/N protested as she tried to block the old lady from disappearing.

“Forget about it now, what you experienced is not real,” the old lady said as she tried to make her way around you. Y/N continued to block her way which made the old lady sigh. You really didn’t want to give her a hard time considering her age, but you didn’t want to leave without unanswered questions.

“You say the dream I had wasn’t real, but why does that poster exist?” Y/N said as she moved to grab the poster that was hanging on the wall. It was designed exactly like what she saw on her dream. “What is this? What is in those bottles?” She gestured desperately waiting for an answer. The old lady sighed, grabbing a small stool and sitting down. “Those are bottles of dreams, my grandmother and my mother used to make it when I was still a child, telling me that one day it would change the world and that people would go crazy to get a sip of what was in it,”

“These bottles allow people to live in their deepest desires, everything you see in your dream is just a figment of your imagination. The potion lets you have what you want,” she added as she gestured towards the poster. “Luckily for you, what you desire isn’t that bad. But for others, it became too much. I stopped selling the bottles because things could get out of hand,” she said sadly. Y/N felt like the weight of her promise was crashing down on her. There was too much information for her to handle, the fact that Jaehyun did not exist made her sick. “I know you’re sad, everyone does once they find out they can’t have what they desire. But if it makes you feel any better, I can tell you one secret,” the old lady says hesitating as she finds the hope in your eyes glint at her words. “This poster, I am guessing you have seen it before in one of your dreams?” She questions as she holds it up in the light. Y/N nodded, “I want to know if the person I see in my dreams is true, or perhaps, I am holding on to this impossibility that he is true,” she mutters as she remembers Jaehyun. She only had one bottle left, meaning it would be the last time she would see him.

“This poster appeared here two days ago, I don’t know how it got here but I assume it is something from a dream. Just like everything in this shop,” the old lady said gesturing towards the other antique items. Everything was so random, as if it was just dumped with whatever things people could find.

“I am not sure if your dreams are real, and if the people do exist. But judging from how everything keeps appearing in random, they might be somewhere out there,” she added. Y/N breathed deeply, there was no assurance of Jaehyun existing in this world, but the existence of the poster means that he would probably appear in this shop if he were to be created. The poster alone ignited her desire to find him. If he did exist, where was he?

“Thank you, if you see anyone appear here around my age. Tall, white, handsome, basically looks like a prince, please let me know,” Y/N says as she leaves her phone number. The old lady chuckled, “Isn’t that too childish for a woman like you?” She says amused at your desperation to find this boy. “He’s a dream come true, can’t let anyone get to him,” y/n replies as she made her way out.

When Y/N returned home, she felt exhausted. She didn’t want to take her last bottle just yet. It could be her last chance of seeing Jaehyun, if what the old lady said was false. But seeing how the poster showed up, as well as other things that were in the shop, it gave her hope that Jaehyun existed somewhere out there. Another thing that bothered her was the fact that if he was out there, where was he? She didn’t even know where to start finding him. She hoped that he lived in the same country for her, she didn’t have enough money to find him if he were abroad. Nor did she think she was willing to find a man who basically existed based on her imagination. Even if he did live under the same skies, it was still to difficult task to do.

What’s the most you would be willing to do for the person you love?

Y/N took the last bottle of dreams, determined to keep her promise to Jaehyun. Adjusting once again to the bright light, when she woke up, she was seated on a chair in what seems like her room in her dream. She was wearing a white maxi dress that hugged her figure in all the right places, long enough to pool on the floor while she sat down. Her hair flowed down her back with curls toward the ends as her face was dolled with light make up.

Taking a good look of herself, she was satisfied with how she looked. If this was the last thing Jaehyun would see, then she was happy that he would see her at her best. When the doorbell rang, she made her way towards the door with a heavy heart as she reminded herself that this was her last bottle. When she opened the door, she smiled as she took in the sight of Jaehyun infront of her. His hair was gelled back with a fringe curled infront of his forehead. He was wearing a plain black suit and tie with a white dress shirt under. He held up a bouquet of fresh daisies as his cheeks were lightly pink from the cold (he tried to convince himself). “For you,” he shyly said, dimples making an appearance once again, he handed over the daisies as he stared down on his feet shuffling as he felt flustered by your presence.

Y/N pouted, he was the man of her dreams. Literally. She hoped she only drank half of the bottle now, because she definitely wanted to see Jaehyun dressed up like this for the rest of her life.

“What’s the matter?” Jaehyun said worried as he saw your lack of response. Taking your hand lightly, he rubbed small circles in the back of your hand as his other took your chin beneath his thumb and point finger. “Stop frowning, you look beautiful in that dress,” he complimented.

“You’re too good looking, I don’t think I can go with you anymore,” you reply trying to play off the somber mood as you give him a reassuring smile. Jaehyun chuckled, “You should see yourself,”

Both entered the venue, to say that it was extravagant was an understatement. It looked like a greek god threw a party, out of a sudden, Y/N felt out of place with all the people passing by looking like they were raised with a golden spoon. Feeling Jaehyun’s arm snake around her waist pulling her closer towards him, she glance at him sending him a small smile as she tries to gain confidence. “It’s fine, we can leave once you feel uncomfortable,” he says as he guides her towards the entrance. “Who has the money to throw this party? It looks ethereal,” Y/N loudly whispers shooting a fake smile to the guards who welcome both of you. “Moon Taeil, he’s a friend of mine,” Jaehyun replies as he inspects the place. Y/N looks around as she admires the gold chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and tall white pillars around the place with gold vines wrapped around it.

“By the way, you look ethereal,” Jaehyun whispers close to her ear, his lips brushing against her earlobe making her flush. He leads her to their table and leaves to get the drinks which makes y/n snap back to her plan. Honestly, she really did not have a plan. She didn’t know how she should spend her last bottle, but for sure she had to act quickly. She thought of hugging Jaehyun or at least holding his hand tight enough for her to bring him to reality, but everything seems pathetic at this point. Looking around, she decided to go to the restroom to at least settle with a final plan. As she made her way through the hallways, she looks at the pictures hanging on the wall. It all looked like some portrait of a royal family, but one picture has caught her eye. Narrowing her gaze, she inspects a picture of a woman probably around her 20s with eyes set forward as if it was staring at her back.

“Where did I see this before?” Y/N mutters under her breath as she stared longer at the woman. Shit, it was the same woman from the shop, only a younger version. Her eyes widened, as she tried to find more pictures of the woman. Y/N slowly tried to reach for the frame, carefully touching it as she tried to find a trace of anything that could help her to bring Jaehyun to reality. Biting on her lip, she continues down the hall in desperation to find hints. As she neared the end, she felt a gust of wind blow towards her.

Turning around, she finds herself in the middle of the street. It was the same street where she met Jaehyun, the first time she appeared in her dream. She looks around and notices the same poster hanging around. Breathing deeply she turns around once again, “What the fuck is going on?” She asks herself.

“Excuse me, where am I?” She asked as she grabbed an arm of a woman who was walking down the street. The girl ignored her like a ghost as she shook her arm of and continued to walk as if nothing happened. Y/N tried asking different people but they all pretended as if they couldn’t hear her. She continued to walk down the streets, noticing a familiar building. The shop she visited, the one with the old lady. Y/N tried opening the door, continuously pounding on it with her fists. “Hello! I need some help, I’m the girl from awhile ago!,” she pleaded as she continued to pound the door with her fists. “Please help me,” she cried out as she shook the door handle. After numerous attempts of trying to open the door, she decided to go back.

“Jaehyun, where are you,” she said feeling her eyes water as she ran around trying to find him in the crowd. Closing her eyes, she tried to control her dream. “I am in the party, I am with Jaehyun,” she chanted, eyes tightly shut as she clenched her fists. Her cheeks wet with streaks of tears that have escaped her eye.

Opening her eyes again, she finds herself in a bathroom. Heaving deep breaths, she looks around her cautiously, afraid that she would lose herself in her dream. After wiping her tears, she made her way towards the party. She finds Jaehyun in the corner talking to a woman around her age her hair long and straight. She looked smaller next to his bigger frame and her eyes were sparkling, y/n was not sure if it was from the light or was it just really her. The woman laughed lightly at what Jaehyun says as she gives him a charming smile. She matched the princess in fairy tales looking as regal as Jaehyun could be. This made y/n sad, it was her dream all along, but if she couldn’t bring Jaehyun to reality then he might as well just live his happily ever after with this woman.

But she might be able to bring him with her, and she wasn’t going to back down without a fight. Y/N clenched her fists, I was gone for a while and this idiot didn’t even try to find me, feeling the green monster in her heart rise she huffed out loud stomping over to the both of them.

“What happened to drinks?” She said making Jaehyun jolt at her sudden presence. “I was just about to get it,” Jaehyun answers as he glances at Y/N. “This is Naeun, a friend of mine, and this is Y/N,” he says gesturing to the both of you. Naeun gives her a small smile raising a hand, while Y/N continued to stare at her blankly.

“His girlfriend,” you scoff as you glared at Jaehyun. “I didn’t know it could take you fifteen minutes to get a drink,” she mocked as Jaehyun looked at her with an amused smile. “I just got here, what are you talking about?” He replied. Y/N raised her brow, “I went to the bathroom,” she argued back. Naeun looked at the two, excusing herself as she didn’t want to get caught up between them. “I just sat you down though,” Jaehyun pouted at her response not liking that she was upset with him. Y/N was confused, didn’t she just get lost in her dream? Or did time just stop and everything continued to flow for her? She decided to drop the topic, sitting down on the stool next to him.

“Doesn’t matter, who is she?” She questioned jutting her chin towards Naeun’s direction as she took a sip from the Andy Player Jaehyun ordered from her directing her attention towards the front avoiding his teasing eyes. “Just a friend from high school,” he said taking a seat as well as he took a sip of his drink, his smiling growing wider at her reaction. Y/N rolled her eyes as she played with the liquid in her glass, “Sure, you seem happy to be reunited,” she mocked, jealousy coating her words. “Hmmm, are you jealous?” Jaehyun asked as he leaned one arm on the counter looking at her with a teasing smile she would like to wipe off his face because not only did he irritatingly looked too good to be true, the veins in his arms were also distracting. Fuck Jaehyun and his rolled up sleeves, Y/N found it unfair, he looked like God’s favorite.

“No, why would I be jealous?” She said defensively taking another sip of her drink. “I don’t care who you mingle with,” she dragged on with a tone as she stuck her tongue out. Jaehyun laughed, “Really? Cause I don’t remember asking me to be your boyfriend,” he added. Y/N chocked on her spit at his statement as she glared at him, “Forget I said that,” though she secretly liked how he seemed to be fine with that title. “To be honest, I really don’t want to,” he retorted. Y/N flushed as she felt herself shrink on her seat.

“I want to dance with my girlfriend, may I?” Jaehyun stated as he offered her a hand, smiling as he raised his brows making Y/N scoff. She really wanted him to stop, it wasn’t good for her heart that probably did a thousand of flips at every word he says.

She took his hand as they made their way towards the dance floor, Jaehyun’s arms wrapped around her waist as he pulled her closer, his other arm guarding each of her hand to wrap around his neck as they found themselves back to her waist. Y/N felt bittersweet, remembering the first time they saw each other and how they were in the exact same position just in a different setting. Jaehyun hummed with the slow song that was playing, lightly mumbling the lyrics with his baritone voice, as his smile never left his face, “This feels familiar,” he says lightly chuckling as he guided her once again through their dance. Y/N this time, only looked at him, no longer looking at her feet. “I think I could get used to this,” she replies making Jaehyun’s smile grow wider, his ears turning red.

“I may have not told you this earlier, but you look beautiful tonight,” he said face serious as they continued to sway to the music. “I mean, you look beautiful everyday, but you look extra pretty now,” he added. Y/N’s face scrunched up in disapproval, never fond of compliments but ever so receiving when it comes to Jaehyun.

“You look handsome as always, Jae,” she said sincerely, lips quirking up slightly at the new nickname she gave him.

Y/N glanced at Jaehyun once more as he continued to guide her carefully through the dance, her heart heavy as it seems that the thought of him not existing in reality would not leave her alone. Hesitating, she looks one more at the smile he has on his face, she really doesn’t want to hurt him. I don’t think I have it in me to hurt you, ever.

“I lo-“

“Jaehyun, I have to tell you something,” she says cutting him off as he was about to say something. Jaehyun looked at her surprise but smiled understandingly, this can wait, I can wait, l just a little bit more, he thought.

They went to the garden, there were still people walking around but less compared to those inside. Y/N’s heart was beating too loud she could hear it in her dream, she has to risk it. She needed to tell him, she had to tell him. “Just let me speak, and I’ll answer all your questions later,” she says as he looked at her curiously. Jaehyun nodded in response, encouraging her to continue as he grabbed both her hands to help her calm down.

“You don’t exist, you’re a part of my dream,” she said as she looked at Jaehyun whose eyebrows just furrowed, pursing his lips as to stop him from asking questions.

“It was my 23rd birthday two days ago, my friend gave me a gift of bottles that contained dreams. I thought it was bullshit at first, but the moment I drank the first bottle, I met you. And I don’t know how to tell you this, but you’re just a part of my imagination. It pains me to say it, but I don’t think I could hide the truth from you anymore. The next time I met you, it was when we were at the park, I remember you asking me how I spaced out and how I seem not to pay attention. It was because I wasn’t mentally present when you were speaking to me. All those times I met you, I fell in love with you because you were all I ever wanted, and it hurts me to think that I can’t even have you in my life,”

Y/N’s tears continued to roll down her face as she sobbed trying to gather her thoughts as Jaehyun looked at her with a mix of confusion and frustration. “This night, I drank my last bottle,” she says voice shaking as she felt Jaehyun’s hands stiffen under her hold.

“Remember when we made our wishes? I wished to live longer in this dream,” she says as he hugged her. Her tears drenching his suit, but that didn’t matter. This maybe her last moments with him, and her heart was hurting too much for her to take.

“Jaehyun, I love you,” she sobbed. She said it, without hesitation as she looked at Jaehyun with teary eyes. Jaehyun bit his lip, he didn’t even know where to start asking. He hugged her tightly as he felt his tears touch his lips, the taste salty as it continued to flow down his face. “I won’t tell you mine, because it won’t come true if I do,” he says as he puts a hand on his shoulder his face bending down to meet her eyes. His other hand brushed the stray strands against her face as she continued to cry.

“I shouldn’t be crying like this, we shouldn’t be doing this,” she said as she wiped her tears away trying to think of happy thoughts.

“Y/N, look at me,” Jaehyun said seriously. His hands with a firm grip on his shoulder. Y/N tried to hold back her tears as she saw the pain on his eyes, long gone the smiles he gave her earlier.

“Promise me, you’ll try,” Y/N nodded as she grabbed his face and pressed a firm kiss on his lips.

“Don’t leave me, please,”

“I won’t, I swear,”

—————

Y/N woke up, her cheeks still wet as she felt tears stream down her face. Everything felt so real, the kiss, the confession, the promises. Jaehyun’s words still echoing in her mind as if she could hear his deep voice whispering beside her.

The moment she got up she tried contacting the old woman, and going back to the shop only to find that it was closed already and was going to be demolished soon. It has been a week since she last saw Jaehyun, a week since she has drank her last dream in a bottle. However, the heartache she went through was still as fresh as it was when she woke up. She tried her best to find him. She visited different libraries, reading on books about what happened to her and if there was a way to reverse it. She even tried going to a planetarium in hopes of finding Jaehyun there, but all found nothing. Some people thought she was crazy, and that she was hallucinating everything, but they didn’t know her story.

She even found the same venue where they had the ball, but to her disappointment, she never found anything that could lead her to Jaehyun or vice versa. It was if he was just a memory she was to forget. But that was the problem, she couldn’t forget him. She promised him she would try, and she didn’t want to let him down. Sometimes, she wondered what he was doing. Was he also trying to escape her mind? Was he with Naeun now that she was gone? Does she get those cheesy pickup lines he tells her? What was he doing now? Did he love her?

There were times when she tried to dream of him, but it wasn’t real. All she got was an image of him, but it didn’t feel like how she dreamt of him when she had the bottle. She tried to widen her imagination, and picture him with her. But it was too tiring for her, after all, she only had three nights of dreams.

As she made her way down the busy streets, she walked quickly as she navigated her way towards the central park as she continued to avoid the people bumping her while they were walking the opposite direction. She stopped in front of the cafe, heaving deep breaths. As she made her way in she walked towards the table in the corner, her lips forming into a smile as she saw the familiar face.

“It’s been a while,” she said hugging Mei. Mei grinned back at her and gestured her to sit down.

“So, how’s life so far?” Mei asked enthusiastically as she sipped on her tea, crossing her legs as she leaned forward. Y/N shrugged as she took a bite of her banana cake, “Nothing much, it’s been boring lately,” she said as she stabbed the banana cake and stuffing another piece into her mouth. “You know you never called me after the second bottle,” Mei huffed.

“Nothing happened, I tried to find the manufacturer because I needed more but the building was demolished,” she replied bitterly. “Ohh yeah, but the dreams were good right?” Mei responded.

“Yeah, too good to be true,” Y/N replied dejectedly. “Do you ever like, want your dreams to come true?” She asked Mei curiously as she bit her fork. “Of course, why the sudden question?” Mei retorted. “I dreamt about this guy, and he’s wonderful. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted, and I just wished he was true,” she replies sighing remembering Jaehyun once again which made her feel bittersweet. It was like she was the only one who knew him inside out, he literally was the man of her dreams.

“I don’t know what you dreamt about but whatever it is, I guess those bottles really work then,” Mei shrugged. “Besides, attachment is the root of suffering,” she adds taking a bite of the banana cake and wiggling her brows.

As she navigated her way home, Y/N sighs once again. Was it really that hard to forget Jaehyun? He didn’t even exist yet here she is feeling broken hearted as if she was cheated on once again by her ex boyfriend. Moving towards a crowd she felt people bump against her making her scrunch up her nose in irritation, “Damn, can’t people watch where they’re going?” She muttered under her breath as she made hurried strides towards her apartment.

Before she could take a turn, she felt a body bump against her as she fell on her butt looking up squinting. Pair of hands helped her stand up as she dusted herself, flustered that she caused a scene in public.

“Thank you,” she muttered quietly to the stranger who didn’t seem to budge as she tried to make her way.

“You should really watch where you’re going,” a deep voice said. Looking up, her jaw slacked. There he stood in front of her, with a light smile in his face his hair still swept back as he was dressed in a plain white tee with denim jeans and white sneakers. Jaehyun. If he looked ethereal in her dream, then she didn’t even know how to describe how he looked as he stood in front of her as she continued to stare at him in awe.

“I didn’t know you were this clumsy, I think you need to get used to me guiding you everywhere,” he added shaking his head as he took her hand in his as his smile radiated. He chuckled at her noticing her lack of response. He placed a small kiss on her forehead as his arm wrapped around her shoulder as he pulled her towards the direction of her apartment.

“How did you find me? How are you here? Are you real?” Y/N asked hurriedly as she stared at him in shock. Everyone was looking at Jaehyun, who wouldn’t really? The girls around continued to stare at him with heart eyes but they didn’t matter to him as his arm tightly wrapped around your shoulder. They didn’t matter cause they weren’t you. Y/N was too bewildered to even glare at those girls as her mind started thinking of all the possibilities on how he appeared.

“My wish came true,” Jaehyun stated as he faced her grinning at her amazed state. “What did you wish for?” Y/N asked curiously as she looked at Jaehyun who was still smiling at her softly.

“I wished I could spend the rest of my life loving you,”

Y/N stopped walking as Jaehyun grabbed her shoulders and faced her towards him. “Why did you say that? Now it won’t come true,” she scolded him as she pouted. Jaehyun laughed at her response. “I’m not going anywhere though, you got me, you got me good,” he winked making her blush just like in her dream.

“Oh and Y/N,” he added as he bent down meeting her eyes as she looked at him with flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

“I love you too,”

#jaehyun fic #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun au #nct fic #jaehyun imagines #jung jaehyun #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun fanfic

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dopescotlandwarrior · 4 years ago

Text

Sinners & Saints - Chapter One

Special thanks to @statell for all your help.

Find on AO3

Chapter One

Galerie Charpentier is home to Sotheby’s Auction house in the center of the Parisian art world and host to almost eighty auctions per year. Art buyers worldwide watch for pieces to add to their collection and millions of dollars change hands as the gavel comes down on the final bids. A rare Rembrandt was up for sale today. One of three self-portraits done by the artist and the only one still in a private collection. The estimated price at auction is twenty-eight to thirty-five million dollars for the eight by twelve-inch painting. It will elevate any collection to new boasting heights and there is a lot of interest.

Jamie Fraser walked the halls of the auction house and checked in on his team trying to stay clear of buyers flocking into the building. He could care less about the art bought and sold today. He was here to catch a master art thief, his nemesis, who bested him at every turn. Jamie was number one in the world for profiling and catching the most accomplished thieves until he signed on to find Casper, the most prolific art thief in Europe. He was dubbed Casper because he came in and went out like a ghost, leaving nothing behind.

Jamie’s jaw clenched thinking of the many times he was closing in on his prey only to have him vanish with the prized art. This time was different, he could feel it. He was tipped off by a black-market snitch that told him the Rembrandt would be in play soon and that painting was being sold today. Casper had to be here, and Jamie would leave him crippled when he took him down. Payback for leading a merry chase for the past two years.

Jamie walked quickly toward the back entrance to verify the doors were locked. He was surprised to pass a large group of people in one of the auditoriums and glanced at the signboard, Doctor Claire Beauchamp, professor of fine arts, University of Chicago. By the size of the audience, she was quite popular. Jamie caught a glimpse of the striking professor in a body-hugging dress that she wore like a fashion model. Black rimmed glasses were perched on her nose above red lipstick and a pile of hair on top of her head that looked exquisitely messy. She pushed a coil of hair off her face and looked up at a huge screen, flipping slides with a remote control. One word came to Jamie’s mind; fascinating. His earpiece crackled and he spun around to head back to the front of the building.

Claire Beauchamp clicked for the next slide, clicked again, and again to no avail. She apologized to the audience and ripped her headset off to find some assistance. Five minutes later she was back to wrap up the lecture with the slides moving perfectly.

Jamie walked by the auditorium three more times as the professor worked her way through the questions, signed copies of her new book, and accepted the thanks of the Parisian art world. Jamie watched her, knowing the auction was underway and the clock was ticking on Casper’s entrance.

“Doctor Beauchamp, there’s a rumor you’re joining the team to catch Casper. Any truth to that?”

“Well, no. He has stolen pieces that I have a particular fondness for, and I would love to help catch him, but I have not been asked. It’s just a rumor.”

Claire shrugged her shoulders and smiled at the last of the people leaving. She stuffed her materials into her briefcase and took a deep cleansing breath. She had one more meeting and a plane to catch back to Chicago. She would give anything for a day to herself in Paris to wander around the Louvre and spend as much time as she wanted with the Masters. Maybe next time, she thought.

Claire emerged from the auditorium and made her way to the back entrance where she was allowed to park. She stopped abruptly and opened her case, smiling when she saw her headset tucked safely inside. She pulled the case up to secure the retaining strap and lowered her arm as the explosion blew her sideways, off her feet, and into a wall that was coming down. She could hear herself screaming until something heavy hit her on the head. Her screaming stopped.

Claire was vaguely aware she was laying in rubble from an explosion. The rubble was warm and had hands that held her upper arms, and a voice that kept asking if she was alright. She tried to lift her head and bumped it on something above her.

“What the bloody hell?”

Her hands were splayed on someone’s chest and she felt around deciding it was a male with a body like Arnold Schwarzenegger! Claire looked to her right and left seeing the tiny space they were pinned into and her heart pounded in her chest, feeling the claustrophobic fear that made elevators impossible.

“Jesus Christ, I have to get out of here, right now! Help me get out of here Mister, please!”

She felt the beefy arms wrap around her and hold her down making the panic even worse. Her wiggling made it hard to hear the man saying her name, getting more stern by the second. He finally held her tightly to him and warned her not to move.

“Doctor Beauchamp, Doctor Beauchamp, Claire! Stop moving! Something is holding the tonnage of walls, ceiling, and live wires above us. If you knock it loose it will kill us. Do you understand?”

Claire gripped his arms and panted from her attempt to escape. She listened to his voice calming her down and telling her to breathe with him. He was very encouraging and kept telling her they would be all right. He talked her down from a panic attack but kept his hands on her to be sure.

“May I call you Claire?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Alright, thank you. I need your help lass. Look around for something strong, like metal, a strong metal box, or something like that not connected to anything, free moving and about a foot tall. Do you see anything like that?”

“Why, for what?” Claire finally lifted her head a few inches and looked up at the man’s head, but it wasn’t there. A very large piece of the wall was suspended right above his throat and his head was on the other side of it.

“Oh my God, oh my God! Sweet Jesus, what are we going to do?” Her panic was rising again, and the arms came around her while the disembodied voice told her to breathe and keep her wits about her. It took several minutes but she finally gained control again and looked around for something strong with the limited space she had to lift her head.

“There are cinder blocks in the rubble, two of them are not touching anything. Will those work Mister?”

“Sorry lass, my name is Jamie, and those might hold this wall up long enough for me to scoot free of it. Can you move one, can you reach it?”

Claire could move the block slowly by stretching her arm until it hurt. Little by little she scooted the cinder block closer to the wall, muttering about a decapitated Arnold and she didn’t want to be alone. Jamie patiently calmed her reminding her to breathe deeply. He helped her push the block under the section of wall and patted her shoulder, thanking her for being so brave. Claire felt the man’s body scooting slowly, taking her with him an inch at a time until he was free of the would-be guillotine.

Jamie laid very still, trying to calm his racing heart. He could see what Claire could not and knew they were buried by at least twenty or thirty feet of debris. It would take hours for rescuers to find them if they ever did. Shafts of light were coming through, but those would disappear when the sun went down leaving them in complete darkness. Jamie felt a murderous rage boiling in his stomach.

“You fucking bastard,” was whispered through clenched teeth. “I will hunt you right into hell before I give up.”

“Who’s a bastard, who will you hunt, who’s going to hell?”

Claire was patting his arm trying to comfort the rage she felt in his tensed muscles. It scared her because she didn’t know this man. Jamie’s arms encircled her lightly for a few seconds.

“He’s called Casper and he’s a dead man walking because I’m gonna finish him when I find him.”

“Casper? The art thief did this?”

Claire got very quiet for a few minutes before asking, “who are you?”

“Jamie Fraser. I head up the task force trying to catch that piece of shit. Just so you know, we are getting out of here, one way or another, because I won’t let him win.”

He felt Claire shaking and heard her sniffling. He held her, feeling bad because he scared her. He lifted his head to look at her.

“I’m sorry lass, I didn’t mean to scare you. Look at me, Claire.”

Jamie wasn’t expecting the large whisky colored eyes and long black lashes wet from her tears. Her face stole his words for a moment, so he just looked at her. He wanted to touch her porcelain skin and feel the coils of curls that had fallen around her face and shoulders.

“I’m sorry Sassenach, rest now. It won’t be long.”

“Sassenach means crazy bitch, doesn’t it?”

Jamie laughed and Claire bounced on his stomach until she smiled too. “No. It means outsider. You’re a Brit, living in America, trapped in Paris, with a Scott,” he said laughing. He laid his head back down, “tell me about yourself, are you married? Any kids?”

“There is an offer on the table, but I haven’t decided yet. I like him fine but he’s a politician and I’m …not.”

“Tell me more. Why hesitate?”

Claire talked about the senator from Illinois who said he loved her and promised a life of excitement and purpose. Jamie listened to the story of two mismatched people and hoped she would choose herself over a man with plans to change everything about her. She couldn’t see that yet but to him, it was very clear.

“What about you when you’re not chasing a master criminal around the world?”

“I cannot say, it’s been too long. I asked a beautiful girl to marry me once and she said yes but she died in an automobile wreck before the wedding. I haven’t dated since then, about two years now.”

“I’m sorry for your loss Jamie, and if it hurts you, I’m sorry to bring it up.”

“I have never been to Chicago, what is it like?”

The conversation was interesting as they took turns asking questions about the other. Jamie was waiting for some sign, pounding, or yelling, that would indicate workers were close. He heard nothing so far and the light was fading in their rubble pocket. He prayed the night would not be terrifying to the woman on top of him.

“Can you sleep, Claire? I think you should try, it will make the time pass faster. Close your eyes and think about something you do at home for fun, breathe deep, that’s a good lass.”

Jamie could hear Claire’s breathing deepen into her slumber and he closed his eyes hoping to join her. He had a feeling it would be a long night.

Senator Randall was startled by a tap on his shoulder and a note passed to him by his aide. It said Doctor Beauchamp had not gotten off her plane from Paris and was not answering her phone. Frank nodded to the aide and gathered his papers into a case leaving the meeting as quietly as possible. He was calling Claire when the door closed behind him. No answer. Claire was reliable, punctual, predictable, and always called when her plans changed. He felt a nervous twitch in his stomach as his phone vibrated continuously with messages delayed while his phone was turned off. He read through the text messages quickly and was jogging to find his driver and get back to his office.

Claire’s secretary and friend had bombed his phone about an explosion at Sotheby’s, part of the building collapsed, and Claire had not boarded her plane. Frank was feeling a surge of anxiety that was quite unfamiliar and unwanted. He kept his life sterile and empty of drama so he could pursue what made him happy, successful, and energized. He barked at the driver to find a way out of the traffic and back to his office. He couldn’t wait. The laptop lid flipped open and Frank searched for news of the Sotheby bombing. It was all over the internet and the pictures of the damage almost stopped his heart. He started dialing for his aides, giving orders to find her, book a flight to Paris tonight, and get him an emergency number for who was in charge at the auction house. He walked briskly to his office followed by jogging aides handing him notes with flight times, and phone numbers.

“Hello”

“Thank God! Jesus yer hard to find Frank. Ye know whats happened at Sotheby’s. Claire didn’t check-in at the airport, she didn’t return her rental or check out of the hotel. I’m sorry Frank, she is unaccounted for and …”

Frank clicked off of the call when Geillis was mid-sentence. He couldn’t deal with her at the moment, and punched in the numbers to Sotheby’s but couldn’t get through. He assigned two aids to keep calling the emergency number until one of them got a person on the phone.

The sixty-inch television in his office was streaming news of the explosion and the missing Rembrandt painting that was discovered. The explosion was reported as a possible diversion so the thief could get away. One of the aides held her phone out.

“Senator Bradley, sir. He says you won’t answer your own phone and he needs to speak with you.”

“Hello, yes, no I can’t meet tonight, I’m flying to Paris, my girl…” Pausing to listen, “sorry Gary, I can’t, it’s an emergency. No, I won’t be voting tomorrow, I have an emergency, I have to …”

Senator Bradley could be heard from across the room making the aides press into the farthest point in the office to complete their tasks. Frank drew his arm back to throw the phone into the wall and someone shrieked and grabbed her phone away from him. It might cost her job, but this was her brand-new iPhone and no cranky senator was going to smash it to pieces. She headed for the door and disappeared.

“It’s the manager at Sotheby’s, sir. Please don’t break my phone.”

Frank dropped into his chair and reported the news of his missing fiancé, Doctor Claire Beauchamp from the University of Chicago. The manager wanted the name of her rental car company, hotel, and time of day she was last heard from. Frank gave him Geillis’s cell phone number adding she would be the point of contact. Tomorrow would be a ball-breaker and he needed someone attached to their phone in case any news came in.

Hours later, Frank laid in bed in the dark and thought about Claire. So many hours after the explosion and no word from her. He didn’t want to believe it but found little hope she was alive. He closed his eyes.

Claire was shifting her weight trying to get comfortable on the lumpiest mattress ever made. When she moved to her side Jamie’s eyes slammed opened and he groaned loudly from her hip crushing his balls. He lifted her hip and moved her over three inches letting his hands rest on her hip and leg. The dress she wore was knit and very soft. It had pulled up above her knee so Jamie pulled it back down.

He didn’t know Claire, and would never see her again once they were free, but he did not like hearing about her fiancé and that made him feel weird. He closed his eyes again.

“Jesus Christ! What is that?”

Jamie was yanked to the surface of consciousness by a loud and panicked voice coming from a wiggling woman trying to move up his body. His arms came around her and he shushed her, asking what was wrong.

“Something crawled up my leg and it had sharp claws, small sharp claws. I need to sit on your chest.”

Jamie grunted and held her still while he talked her down from another panic. He had worried about rats in the building being attracted to their smell. He told Claire to breathe with him while he stroked her hair in the pitch darkness. She had wiggled up toward his head and now her cheek was pressed against his, her mouth only inches from his. He could feel her relaxing and truly hoped for no more surprises tonight. He fell asleep with his arms around Claire.

Jamie opened his eyes when the noise of pounding pulled him back to consciousness. He felt Claire pressed against him, their faces touching, and the morning erection that threatened what little dignity he had left. He willed it away, quite unsuccessfully. The banging started again and he smiled to himself, it won’t be long before they are back on their feet, he thought. The pounding gave way to ripping metal and the distinct sound of a backhoe.

Claire moaned and moved to her stomach, rolling her face so her mouth was smashed against Jamie’s. He didn’t want to breathe for fear she would wake up and take her lips away. The noise from moving heavy debris got louder and the light from the new day flooded their pocket. Claire opened her eyes and screamed, pushing away from Jamie and hitting her head hard.

“What the bloody hell!”

“I’ll have you know madam that you accosted me just now, taking advantage of my inability to move and get away. This assault comes after you nearly strangled me getting away from a mouse.”

Claire rubbed her head and looked at the most beautiful face she had ever seen on a man. He could be a movie star with looks like that, she thought. Jamie was trying to look indignant but started to chuckle when her mouth turned into a smile. She looked adorable with a mass of curls pouring over her face as she felt for a bump on her head.

“Do you need me to rub it for you?”

The laugh that followed was genuine, feminine, and he loved hearing it.

“I’ll let you know if I want you to rub it.”

She laid her head on his chest and listened to the cavalry above them. “Sounds like they are making progress Jamie. I think you will soon be free of me.”

“Let’s hope it’s before I die of dehydration. I have never felt thirst like this in my life.”

With nothing to do but wait for the rescuers, they dozed and tried not to move too much. Through the early morning, the efforts above them intensified. The crew boss called a halt to the noise so they could get a radar fix on the heartbeats again. The radar technician moved his finger in a circle above their location and the infrared tech nodded his agreement. The noise continued.

“Jamie?”

“Yes, Sassenach.”

“What is the first thing you want to do when we’re rescued?”

“Drink like an elephant.”

“How is that?”

“Someone hands them a hose and they use their trunk to place it in their mouth. An hour or so later, the elephant pulls it out.”

“I’m quite sure you made that up but it’s still funny.”

“It’s God’s truth, I swear. Next, I will jump into the hotel pool until my body temperature comes back to normal. You laying on me is like a giant quilt heating me through for the last twenty hours or so. What about you Sassenach?”

“I’m down for the elephant thing, and a bubble bath, while I pray there are no flights to Chicago today. I want to lose myself in the Louvre.”

“Your list is impressive but surely a phone call to the senator will be done first, even before you put the hose in your mouth?”

Claire was giggling at Jamie’s charm, “of course, the senator, and then the hose.”

“Your dress is so soft, I woke up petting it like a rabbit in the middle of the night.” Jamie ran his hands down her back for effect and then instantly dropped them to his sides while Claire laughed. He just wanted to make her laugh until they took her away from him forever.

“Don’t move Sassenach!”

“Why? Is something crawling on me?”

Jamie grunted when her knee made contact with his balls as she twisted to look for a bug, or worse.

“No, it’s a phone call is all.”

Jamie reached up and pulled a phone to his ear. He spoke to the rescue worker and described how they were trapped. The phone was then pulled upward through the remaining debris until it was out of sight.

“Wow, how do they know exactly where we are?”

Jamie watched her childlike wonder and smiled at her until the dangling section of wall that had been directly above his throat dropped onto the cinder block making a deafening noise. Claire screamed and held onto Jamie tightly. She buried her face in his chest and cried until he could calm her down again. Claire felt his hand stroking her hair, and his arm around her waist. It was so foreign to be held this way and she didn’t want it to stop but could not force more tears, so he let her go. Jamie smiled encouragingly at her and pointed to the crushed cinder block.

“You see, you saved my life. That means you’re responsible for me forever.”

“Wait. If I saved you, that means you owe me a life, I think.”

“Anybody’s life?”

“I’m not quite sure about that. Maybe it’s like a debt that is paid by saving my life.”

Jamie took a chance and twisted his body and hers until they were lying side by side looking at the other.

“I don’t imagine a professor of fine arts and future first lady of the United States finds her life in peril much. But if you did, I will be the first one there Claire.”

She looked so innocent and beautiful looking at him. He seized her mouth and gorged himself on the beautiful professor. She turned her head for better access to his lips and he felt the exhilaration of her interest, however brief it would be. Aside from inhalation, the kiss continued until a large section that had them pinned was ripped away.

Claire sat up smiling at the men that surrounded them about ten feet up. She waved and stretched her back. A harness was lowered, held still by the men until she was safely in it. She pulled her briefcase strap over her head and was lifted through the debris to safety. Jamie watched her legs until she was pulled from his view.

Jamie looked up at the men, “any of the art stolen yesterday?”

“One small painting is all,” said with a heavy accent.

His stomach suddenly felt like a rock grinder. He asked the man, “quelle peinture?” The man shrugged his shoulders and looked around at the other workers until someone yelled “Rembrandt”. The sling was lowered again and Jamie was tempted to wrap it around his neck, but then Casper would win. He buckled himself into the harness.

Claire was loaded into an ambulance and whisked off to the nearest hospital. She gripped her briefcase and tried to calm her sense of shock at being thrust back into normality and away from Jamie. The EMT bent the straw top of a bottle of water and placed it in her mouth. She pulled the cool water into her mouth and thought about the elephants.

Claire was released by nine in the morning and now sat on her hotel bed with the phone in her hand.

“Sweet heavens, I am glad to talk to ye Claire, I haven’t slept a wink!”

“You are such a good friend Geillis. I tried to call Frank but his phone is off. Is he on his way to Paris?”

“No, he tried to leave last night but there’s an important vote today, it couldn’t be missed. What do ye need me to do? I already checked flights and they are booked today and tomorrow, even first class. I booked ye on United, leaving Paris at ten in the morning on Friday. All your appointments are canceled because ye were missin from a building that was bombed and I dinna ken if you were dead or alive.”

Geillis sobbed through the last part of the sentence and continued to cry until Claire calmed her down.

“I have quite the war story from the experience. I spent almost twenty-four hours laying on top of a giant Scot with a gorgeous face and bulging muscles.”

Claire giggled at Geillis’s reaction, knowing her friend would find that part of the tragedy delicious. After the call, Claire pulled her filthy clothes off and dropped them in the wastebasket. Flipping the security bar on the door meant she would be undisturbed while she scrubbed the dirt away. Sinking into the hot fragrant bubbles, she exhaled and thought about the rest of her day. She would meet with her client later and conclude their business and then tomorrow was all for her. The silver-lining as it were.

The exquisite bed in Claire’s room was so expansive one might miss the 8x12 inch Rembrandt in the center. Soon it would be handed over to the client in exchange for a deed to an Italian property valued at three million dollars. All in a day’s work.

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